


Somewhere Only We Know

by OwlBabies



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: (no one has an eating disorder it's just mentioned), Fluff, Friendship to Love, Greg get's sappy but truthful, Hippie Greg, Kid Sherlock, Kinda, M/M, Nature, Near Death Experiences, Oblivious Mycroft, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Shy Mycroft, Some Humor, Teen Lestrade, Teen Mycroft, mention of Sherlock's Asperger's, mentions of an absent parent, mentions of an eating disorder, mentions of premature birth (Sherlock), somewhat socially awkward mycroft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-02-17 20:25:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2322116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OwlBabies/pseuds/OwlBabies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft meets his polar opposite and it turns out it's just who he needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is based off of the song Somewhere Only We Know by Keane. I take a long time to write so I'm going to apologize ahead of time, I will take a long time to update. I'll try not too but I can't keep promises. I will add more tags as I go along.

Mycroft had never expected his life would change so much after he met the neighborhood “beatnik,” Gregory Jonathan Lestrade. That’s what everyone called him; a beatnik, or hippie. Mycroft thought of it as an insult to the boy, who was only one year his senior. How did wearing flowing, big clothes, and appreciating nature give you such a label that everyone said with such negative connotation? Mycroft never understood that, and it bothered him. He didn’t exactly enjoy having unanswered questions, which drove him mad the very first time he laid his eyes on Greg. The boy seemed to beam all the time, always happy or content. Mycroft was, some would say _blessed_ , cursed with powers of deduction and could read loads just glancing at passing people on a street. Yet, Greg’s very _being_ intrigued Mycroft, which was rare. Mycroft wasn’t the typical teenager, going out with friends, he didn’t have any. Not that people didn’t like him, he just didn’t like _them_. They were boring, ignorant, a waste of time. But _Gregory_ , was completely and utterly different. Mycroft couldn’t read Greg like a book, he was able to deduce small things, but nothing more. And that only added to his irritation, and fascination.

Mycroft squinted as he emerged into the sunlight from under the cover of shade trees on his way home from school. It was nearly summer time and school would let out soon. Good. Mycroft thought. _I won’t be forced to walk in this sweltering weather._

His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a certain dark headed boy climbing over the wooden fence of his home, clearly just back from school. _I’ll never understand how he gets home before I do._ Mycroft thought for possibly the hundredth time. Mycroft thought he’d always chosen the quickest way home.

“Hello, Gregory.” Mycroft called over, still walking toward his own abode.

Greg looked up and flashed his signature smile that always made Mycroft’s heart beat a little faster than usual. “Hi, Mycroft. And it’s Greg, you know.” The boy had to stand on tiptoes to look fully over the fence.

Mycroft quirked a bit of a smile at how short Greg actually was. “Good afternoon.” Mycroft looked ahead of himself towards his waiting home.

“Wait!” Greg was suddenly climbing back over the fence, his bare, tanned feet flashing in the plush grass as he ran towards Mycroft. His thin shirt flowing in the wind he created. “Where you goin’?” He said as he came up beside Mycroft.

Mycroft looked a bit perplexed. “..home. Where else?” he raised a questioning eyebrow, starting a slow stroll in that direction. Greg shrugged walking along with him. “I dunno. Just curious. You always run off when we see each other.”

“Do I? I apologize, I don’t intend to be rude. I hope I didn’t offend you in the slightest.” Mycroft definitely didn’t want to offend him. He knew the criticism and ridicule Greg had to put up with for being free-spirited and happy with himself. Yet even through all that, Greg never seemed offended or hurt. He’d always just smile and say, “Everyone has their own opinions, and I respect that.”

“Hardly.” Greg giggled. “I was just wondering if you’d like some company. I never see you with anyone. Not that that’s bad. I like keeping to myself too sometimes.”

“Really?” Mycroft looked at Greg, realizing the question had slipped from his mind through his mouth before he could stop himself. Mycroft was actually surprised by Greg’s statement; the boy was always the social butterfly at school.

Greg met his eye and smiled sweetly. “Yeah. It’s relaxing. It helps me…get back in touch with myself. Being around people, different personalities, attitudes, it starts to make carbon copies. Rubs off on people. We’re all influenced by others. Sometimes..I forget who I am by the end of the day.”

Mycroft only stared at him. _Then how is it I barely know myself._ He thought coldly. Mycroft blinked a couple times and looked ahead enquiring all of what Greg had said in silence.

Greg let the silence continue for a short time, listening to the bird’s trills. “Makes you think, huh?” Greg looked at him and smiled.

Mycroft looked to the ground and opened his mouth thinking of what to say. “I must say, I’ve never considered it that way.”

Greg only shrugged, “I get that a lot for some reason.” Mycroft let silence fall between them, unsure of what else to say.

They stopped in front of the cozy, two story house Mycroft called home. The silence continued, for what Mycroft felt like was forever, until finally he looked over at Greg, who wasn’t fazed a bit by the obvious awkward silence. “…would you like to come in for tea?” Greg smiled brightly, “Sure.”

\--------

Mycroft lead Greg into the cramped little kitchen after depositing his own shoes. “Please, sit.” Mycroft gestured to the kitchen table and chairs. He opened the cupboard grabbing two mugs, “What do you fancy?” 

Greg sat in one of the chairs leaning forward. “Uhm..do you have any pomegranate tea?” Mycroft’s brows furrowed. Pomegranate tea, Mycroft knew, strengthened the immune system, helped fight cancer, reduced fever, along with being a remedy for a few other things, but it wasn’t commonly drank in England, at least he didn’t think so. “..No. I’m afraid not. Would green tea do?” Greg nodded, “Yeah that’s fine.”

Mycroft dug the little box of green tea bags out of the cabinet and put the kettle on. “Have a low immune system, do you?” Mycroft typically wasn’t nosy, unlike his little brother. Mycroft assumed that’s what it was; low immune system, possible cancer history in family, just taking precautions. “Yeah. I get sick really easily. That and it’s just over all good for you.” Greg answered.

“Yes, I remember reading an article about it a few years ago…” Mycroft felt out of his element with a schoolmate sitting before him in his home, he could feel the awkward silence fill the empty spaces of the room. 

\------

They sat there, staring at each other from across the kitchen table. Mycroft had his eyes narrowed in deep thought, while Greg stared back with big brown eyes not showing a bit of discomfort. He took a sip of his warm tea, holding the mug with both hands, then smiled happily finally breaking the long stretch of silence, “You don’t talk much do you?” sounding cheery with a hint of a giggle. 

Mycroft, who was then terribly flustered, shook from his fixation on the boy and blushed deeply. He took a sip of his own tea trying to clear his mind. “I apologize. I’m not exactly used to company. …Or people for that matter.” 

“Really?” Greg said after taking another sip of tea, furrowing his eyebrows and cocking his head to the side. Mycroft couldn’t help but smile, the sight before him just warmed his heart and he didn’t know why. Pushing his sudden frustration for why he didn’t know away, he spoke. “Yes. As you were correct, I am mostly alone. I don’t have any friends.”  
“Not unless you count the people asking for the homework answers.” Greg smiled cheekily into his tea mug. Mycroft chuckled, “Very true. I’d be considered the most popular boy at school in that case.”

“Oh definitely.” Greg giggled, holding his smile. “Can we go outside?”

\----

Greg sat in a plushy patch of grass in the Holmes’ backyard, with Mycroft taking a patio chair, they continued their stare down. Mycroft was the first to speak this time. “Why do you smile all of the time?” Greg gave a look as if the question were obvious, especially to someone as smart as Mycroft. “What do you mean?” he finally said.  
Mycroft paused. “Nearly every time I look at you, you have a smile on your face which indicates happiness.”

“…yes?” 

“How can you possibly be happy all of the time?”

Greg took a moment to look down at the grass beneath him, then turned his head to admire the clear sky above them, the beautiful chirps filling the air from birds hidden amongst the shade of the trees, the sweet smell of grass and Mrs. Holmes’ tulips. His tan skin soaking up the warmth of the bright sun, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath looking completely at peace.

Finally he opened his eyes and looked at Mycroft with a soft smile. “Life’s too short to be anything but happy.”

Something hit Mycroft on the inside. He was utterly speechless, that started to seem natural when it came to being with Gregory.

After sometime Greg got up and grabbed Mycroft’s hand pulling him up. “Wh-what are you doing?” Mycroft stood blinking at the older boy with furrowed eyebrows. “Come. Sit down here.” Greg pulled him off of the cool, shaded stone patio and onto the warm grass out in the sun. Greg sat in the flattened grass where he was previously sitting.

“In the _grass?_ ” Mycroft said, sounding repulsed. Greg chuckled, “Yes!”

“But…it’s.. _unhygienic._ ” Mycroft turned his nose up at the thought of sitting where bugs and God knows what else had been there.

Greg only laughed. “And how’s that?” He pulled Mycroft down beside him.

Mycroft made a face that told in many ways how disgusted and shocked he was. Not only that, but he refused to speak, letting his childish side show as he pouted.

“Aw come on now, it’s not that bad. Now you can see things from my level. Well…” Greg drifted off as he noticed how Mycroft was still much taller than himself even when sitting. “You know what I mean.” Greg’s smile widened.

“No, I don’t believe I do, Gregory.” Mycroft snapped.

Greg wasn’t fazed by Mycroft’s apparent irritation, he was only glad Mycroft was starting to open up to him weather Mycroft realized it or not. “It’s Greg!” Greg giggled and squeezed Mycroft’s shoulder.

Mycroft tensed and looked at Greg at the sudden contact. _I’m clearly showing aggravation. Yet he isn’t acknowledging it._

“Okay, what I mean is, sitting down here, you can see how I see things.”

“Sitting on the filthy ground doesn’t mean I can see through your eyes, it’s physically impossible.”

“So technical. Are you always like that?”

“Yes. How else should I be?”

“Well…not so uptight all the time.” Greg grew a more serious face. “If you’re always so practical where is there room for fun?”

Mycroft paused. “What is your definition of ‘fun’ exactly?” Mycroft pulled a sarcastic tone and smug smile, starting to think this friend thing was a mistake at attempting with a boy who was a polar opposite of himself.

Greg only looked at him. Mycroft continued to look at Greg starting to raise his eyebrows awaiting an answer that he was obviously not going to get. 

He rolled his eyes and huffed, irritation increasing. “Oh good lord, not another stare-down. I’ve had enough of this.” He stood, brushing off his trousers and heading for the door.

When suddenly there was laughter behind him. He turned to see Greg lying on his back chucking out of the blue.

“Oh you’re something, Mycroft Holmes.” Greg smiled up at him, white teeth gleaming. Mycroft’s heart fluttered in his chest, and that’s when he knew he’d be seeing a whole lot more of the dark haired boy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy reading!

It had been nearly two weeks since Mycroft had had Gregory over, and yet he still knew very little. But seeing the dark-haired-mystery only fed his fascination, longing to be with him the moment they parted.

School had officially been released that Friday, now it being Saturday Mycroft had decided to read a few chapters of Adam Smith’s _Wealth of Nations_ , which he had been neglecting due to school. He walked into the tiny, dark, cramped library that used to be his mother’s study before she had quit her passion for mathematics and decided to pursue motherhood. He sat at the small table by a single, narrow window in the room, using the natural light of the sun to illuminate the pages of his book as he began to read.

_Had this state continued, the wages of labor would have augmented with all those improvements in its productive power, to which the division of labour gives occasion. All things would gradually have become cheaper. They would have been produced by a smaller quantity of labour; and as the commodities produced by equal quantities of labour would naturally in this state….._

The words began to be a drone that blurred as thoughts of Greg replaced his interest in reading. “Ugh!” Mycroft slammed his book closed and slumped back in the hard wood of the chair, sighing. _I can’t even read. This is ridiculous, he’s just another boy! There isn’t anything outstanding about him, Mycroft lied to himself, I don’t understand my interest._

Just about that time, something hit the window, making Mycroft jump and look in that direction. Standing outside was Greg in a thin white shirt that looked two sizes too big and baggy, worn-out, light brown trousers that were frayed to the ankle, and, of course, was bare-foot.

Mycroft leaned closer to the glass nearly pressing his nose to it. Greg brought a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun then waved with the other. Mycroft pried the old window open, dust scattering through the air. Swatting it away he poked his head out coughing.

“Did I scare you?” Greg called up.

“No- _cough_ just a bit surprised is all.” Mycroft finally gathered his composer.

“Well surprise!” Greg giggled, awfully cheery.

“Yes, now what is it you need?”

“I thought you might want some company. Not happy to see me?” Greg attempted a pitifully sweet tone only making him that more adorable in Mycroft’s opinion.

Mycroft blushed, thankful he was on the second floor. “I am. I was only wondering what it was you wanted.”

“I want you to come down here with me.”

“I’m reading.”

“Wha-“ Greg’s mouth fell open. “What’re you doing reading inside? It’s a lovely day! Come out here!” Greg’s tone wasn’t demanding, it was more playful and inviting.

Mycroft sighed. There was absolutely no way he could say no to Gregory, it was physically impossible to form the words. “Alright, alright. I’ll be down in a moment.”

 

\-------

 

Mycroft stepped out from the confines of his home, squinting from the bright sun. “Why did you want me out here, again?” He hoped he didn’t get a headache from the sudden change of environments. 

“Hey to you too. I told you, it’s a lovely day. Be a shame if you didn’t enjoy it while it lasts.”

“I was enjoying it; I was reading.” Mycroft walked over and stood beside the shorter boy, folding his arms.

“And you still could. Read outside.” Greg shook out a blanket with vibrant colors and intercut patterns, gently laying it over the soft grass as if it were an injured moth. “There. I brought a blanket to sit on so you wouldn’t complain.” Greg smiled brightly at Mycroft.

Mycroft looked at him a moment. _Why is he going out of his way to please me in some fashion? I’m being border line rude._ Mycroft’s thoughts trailed off. Greg’s smiles made his thoughts just wither away. “Thank you.” 

“No problem.” Greg sat upon the woven blanket and patted the spot beside him. “Come on, it’s not dirty.” Greg giggled.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and smiled as he made his way to sit. He took part of the fabric between his thumb and index finger feeling the material, his mind racing with deductions. “Your grandmother made this.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

Greg looked at him, a bit surprised. “Yeah, how’d you know?” 

“Simple, it was obviously handmade. I can tell by the stitching. No sign of a label or tag, so a family member made it. The pattern used in weaving this type of blanket is old fashioned; therefore your grandmother must have been the artisan.” Mycroft didn’t typically like to show off, but he had his rare moments.

Greg raised his eyebrows, “Wow. You’re pretty good.” Mycroft furrowed his own. That wasn’t the usual response he received when he spilled deductions, but there weren’t any usuals when it came to Gregory anyway.

“Thank you. I try.”

Greg shook his head with a smile and leaned back on his arms to look up at the sky, legs stretched out in front of him. For a while the only sound were the chirps of song birds. With Greg gazing at their surroundings Mycroft quickly grew bored.

“You were awfully talkative before I came down.”

Greg turned his head to look at Mycroft, he shrugged. “Didn’t think you had to talk, just being with each other is nice, right?” 

“Well…yes, but it would be more pleasant if there were conversation involved.”

“What d’you wanna talk about then?” Greg shifted to face more towards him.

Mycroft blanked. _What do people talk about? What is he interested in? Should I ask him? How do people do this?!_ Mycroft looked down, clearly at war with himself.

Greg chuckled and shook his head. “You make things too complicated on yourself. Okay, think of a subject. Do you have one?” Mycroft nodded. “Okay what is it?”

“Politics.” Mycroft met his eye shyly.

Greg chucked once more. “Of course it is.”

A smile crept across Mycroft’s face accompanied by a blush, not attempting to hide it he began the conversation.

 

\--------

 

They both lay spread out across the blanket-covered ground smiling and laughing at one another’s comments, the clouds as their entertainment and their conversation as the dialogue. Mycroft was surprised at how intelligent Greg actually was, not only that, he was overly joyed that he could have political conversations with someone other than his parents.

“Well, it sure sounds like you’ll make a bloody good politician.”

Mycroft pulled a face but his smile didn’t fade. “How did you know that’s what I wanted to pursue?” He looked over at the older and … _skinnier_ boy. Mycroft’s smile formed into a frown, he didn’t realize how skinny Greg actually was until then. He always wore big clothes that swallowed him whole.

“I can hear the passion in your voice when you talk about it. It’s so different than when you just chat about nothing.”

Mycroft thought it best not to ask, “Ah. I see. You have, what do they call it, sharp hearing.”

“Thanks.” Greg’s smile lingered even after things quieted between them. Mycroft looked down in thought.

After a few minutes had passed, Mycroft looked back over at Greg, whom had his eyes closed. Suddenly the world around them darkened as a passing cloud covered the sun, earning a hum from the older boy. 

_Thank god._ Mycroft thought, _Some mercy for my poor skin._ Mycroft never liked being outside, even as a kid. The sun was hell on his pale, freckled skin. Much different than Greg’s that soaked up sun like a sponge to water.

Mycroft looked back up at the sky and closed his own eyes. The soft breeze was soothing and he felt himself becoming more relaxed. “This is nice.” He finally said.  
“You think so?” Greg raised his head opening his eyes to look at Mycroft.

“Yes. I don’t typically _like_ the outdoors, but it’s quite enjoyable in your company.”

Greg looked like a Cheshire cat he smiled so wide. He laid his head back down on the cloth, “I’m glad you think so.” 

“As do I.” was the last thing said, until their goodbyes, they laid there in content silence letting the birds be their music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The third chapter will be added around this time next week, possibly two weeks from now. I'm still only working on chapter seven and I'd like to stay many chapters ahead. Hope you enjoyed chapter two!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for posting this a day late, forgot to. Hope you enjoy! I think this chapter is rather cute. Oh and if any of you catch Mycroft referring to Greg as 'Greg' and not 'Gregory,' please let me know. I don't always catch it and I have no beta, so that would be greatly appreciated.

Mycroft was sat at the kitchen table with his younger brother, both of them picking at their breakfast while their mother washed the dishes. The soft sounds of plates and silverware clinging together in the murky water faded into the background as Mycroft’s mind went elsewhere, outside the confines of his home, laying in the grass and laughing into the sky with a certain dark haired boy whom was the center of his attention almost always. 

Mycroft closed his eyes and he slipped into an open field surrounded by a sky so clear and blue it could’ve been water. Flowing deep green grass brushed halfway up his calf and tiny white flowers tickled just below his knees. The hills in the distance rippled under the breeze looking as if it were a green ocean that went on for miles. Mycroft began to walk through the meadow and not long after that came across a body making a bed of the sod. The body belonged to the boy who had suddenly entered his life just two and a half weeks ago. With a broad smile a hand was brought up pulling Mycroft earthward and onto his back beside the boy. But the hand didn’t let go. Its fingers intertwined with his. Mycroft’s heart beat sped up at the contact of a warm palm pressed against his own, a blush spread across his cheeks. He turned his head towards Greg only to see him leaning closer, eyes nearly closed, and lips slightly parted, head tilting to the side to fit their lips togeth-

 _Bam!_ A raucous sound broke him from his thoughts with a jolt. His eyes sprang open in disorientation, to see it was only a metal pot his mother had dropped.

“Oh! Sorry, dearies. You know how clumsy I am.” Mrs. Holmes bent down and picked up the pot she had dropped. “Did I scare you, Mikey?” She chuckled.

“No, he was daydreaming about his boyfriend.” Sherlock pulled a smug smile and shot a look to Mycroft across the table.

Mycroft hadn’t realized he had been blushing and had his lips parted while daydreaming about Greg, he didn’t even have time to register what _exactly_ he had just daydreamed about.

Mycroft’s face turned red and into something between a scowl and bewilderment, “He is _not_ my boyfriend, Sherlock!”

Sherlock giggled, “You want him to be.” He said before taking a bite of his omelet. Mycroft groaned and rubbed his face with his hands. 

“What on earth are you talking about? What boy?” Mrs. Holmes was now curious and Mycroft was sure she’d encourage him to endeavor in a relationship, even if it were with a boy.

“No one, mother.” Mycroft tried, sounding exhausted.

“The boy who lives three houses up from us. He comes by every other day.” Sherlock still had that smug smile on his face that made Mycroft want to pinch his head right off.

Their mother looked as if she had seen the holy prophet. “Mikey, why didn’t you tell me!”

Mycroft groaned once more, “My name is _Mycroft_ , and there was nothing to inform you about. He is just a boy who is my friend. Nothing more.”

Sherlock chimed in, “For now.”

Mycroft jumped up and grabbed Sherlock by the ear roughly, making the younger boy squeal and swat at his arm.

“Boys!” Their mother shouted and broke up the quarrel. “Behave, the both of you! Sherlock, go on. Mycroft, come clean the rest of the dishes.”

Sherlock shot Mycroft a snide smirk and hopped out of his chair, Mycroft glared at the little torture then turned to their mother. “Why must I be punished? Sherlock was the one who started it.” He didn’t mean for the words to sound so childish, but it was too late.

“And I am finishing it. Don’t be so immature, Mycroft. I expect more of you.” She handed the dish towel to him and headed towards the door to the den stopping in the doorway. “Oh and after you finish that you can fold the laundry and hang the rest to dry.” She disappeared behind the door, Sherlock trailing behind. Mycroft stared at the dishes before him and sighed, slinging the dish towel over his shoulder he rolled up his sleeves and began his work.

\------------

From the position of the sun Mycroft could tell it was roughly noon, he had cleaned the remainder of the dishes, and hand dried them all, had even put them away, and had folded the laundry. He was currently hanging the freshly washed laundry on the clothing line in their backyard. During the summer months their mother didn’t like to use the laundry dryer, she preferred to let the sun and wind do the job.

Thankfully for Mycroft it wasn’t a particularly hot day, though he already had beads of sweat forming on his forehead from what little work he had done. _Whatever position I acquire in government it will **not** entail field work, I’ll be sure of that._

He bent down to grab the next article of clothing to hang and looked up to admire the clear sky. He looked in his hands and shrieked, quickly dropping the clothing back in the tan wicker basket. He was surprised at how a woman’s, his mother’s, brazier could turn his face scarlet. He rolled his eyes at how ridiculous and childish he was being, so he decided to take it like a man and use the clothes pins to move the undergarment to the clothing line. _I’m sure mother wouldn’t want her delicates to be handled by her son anyway._

Then suddenly he heard giggling coming from behind. Mycroft span around to find it was the boy from his earlier daydream, leaning over the wrought iron gate connected to the brick fencing surrounding the backyard. “Women’s underwear frighten you?” He was wearing a deep red wine colored shirt that looked like it belonged to an older, heavier woman, and a pair of worn jeans. And as always, no shoes adorned his feet.

“N-no it just surprised me is all.” Mycroft cleared his throat and smoothed the creases on his light blue button up. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough.” Greg said with a snide smile. “May I come in?” The gate creaked as he invited himself in.

“Well you’re already in so I suppose so. You shouldn’t be here, I’m doing chores.” Mycroft turned back to his work and started up again.

“Nice to see you too.” Greg smirked and leaned against one of the clothes line poles watching Mycroft, casually trailing his eyes over the taller boy.

“Apologies, I didn’t mean to sound rude.” Out of the corner of is eye Mycroft had caught the action and didn’t see it as casual at all. He furrowed his eyebrows a bit and went to lift a plush towel from the basket. 

“Nah it’s fine. Hell, I just like seeing you doing something outside on your own for once” Greg grinned.

“It’s still against my will. Mother prefers to have clothing hang dry in the summer than use the dryer.”

“Eco-friendly. Smart woman. I see where you get it from.”

This actually made Mycroft smile, “Flattery will not get you anywhere, Gregory”

“Oh we’ll see about that. And it’s Greg!” He giggled and beamed at Mycroft.

Mycroft only rolled his eyes, a smile still stretched his lips. “Now, mind telling me why you’re here?”

“I’m heading to the market to fetch my mum a few things.”

“My house isn’t on the way to the market.”

“I know. I came to see if you wanted to join me. It’d be a nice little walk together.”

Mycroft hung the last article of clothing from the basket; it was Sherlock’s black and white striped shirt he used for playing pirate, now free of mud and grass stains. Mycroft picked the wicker basket up from the ground, holding it against his hip and sighed. “Well I’m finished with my chores, I don’t see why not.”

Mycroft could tell Greg was happy, the boy did smile all the time, but this was different. Greg’s eyes lit up after the words had left Mycroft’s mouth, he was genuinely happy. It was even more evident when Greg hugged him and nearly yelled “thank you!” Of course, Mycroft was stunned by this action, this _physical_ action, but let it happen anyway. Well, he didn’t really have a choice; Greg had a strong grip for someone with such a frail looking body. To Mycroft it felt like the boy was hugging so tight it was as if he was life and Greg was clinging to it.

Greg let go allowing Mycroft to set the laundry basket inside and tell his mother where he was off to and with whom. Once Mycroft was back outside at Greg’s side he didn’t mention the hug, neither of them did, but Mycroft thought about it on their way to the market. What got to him was that it was so sudden, with no warning. And Greg didn’t seem like a clingy person by a long shot, he was physical, yes, but not clingy. At least he didn’t appear to be. But Mycroft knew that didn’t mean a thing when it came to Greg, everything was different with Greg.

They were at the top of their street, walking, well more like strolling slowly, neither of them intending on rushing to get to the store and back. The longer they took to get to the store the longer it would take to get back, and the longer they would have to wait to part once again. Mycroft found his mind coming to that conclusion and realized his thoughts were becoming harder and harder to control anymore. He sighed and glanced over at Greg whom was walking in the cool shaded grass rather than the partially shaded sidewalk that was heated by the breaks of sunlight through the leaves of the trees above them. Greg caught notice to Mycroft’s action and softly smiled.

“You ok?” Greg’s hand brushed against Mycroft’s as they walked, making Mycroft’s heart skip a beat.

“Y-yes..” Mycroft smiled sincerely at the boy, letting his emotions take over for now. He still wasn’t sure what was going on inside him, he continued to deny it was attraction, mainly because he had never really experienced it before. No one had really appealed to him. But he let whatever he was feeling take charge, only because it felt like the most right thing to do.

“Good.” Greg’s smile widened, showing pure white teeth. Their hair and clothes ruffled in the wind flashing cars made as they passed the two walking along the sidewalk of the main road. Mycroft watched a few drive past.

“Just curious, do you own a car? Or..drive at all? I know you’re only a year older than I.”

“Nope. I never learned. I don’t care to. Wherever I need to go is walking distance. And hospital comes to me if need be.”

Mycroft’s brows furrowed, _Why would they come to him? They rarely make house calls anymore._ “Why?” The moment the words left his mouth he regretted it, the look on Greg’s face told he was regretting his own words and that it was a personal matter and would rather not speak of it. Mycroft saved the conversation from one of the silences that used to would show up randomly and unexpectedly when they first started spending time together, he really wanted to be past that plateau, “Why you don’t fancy driving I meant.”

Relieve flushed over Greg’s face and he relaxed, Mycroft hadn’t noticed Greg had tensed. “Oh. I just don’t like it. I prefer to walk, I see nature not through the glass of a window or windshield, I get fresh air not through an energy-powered air-conditioner but by natural wind, I hear the sweetest music made by birds and rustling leaves not by loud guitars and yelling people, I feel grass under my feet and not the rubber mat of a floorboard, I could go on and on.”

The words rolled of his tongue like poetry, at least Mycroft thought so. Greg seemed so passionate about everything he talked about when it came to nature and the outdoors, it was clear to Mycroft and anyone who came in contact to Greg that the boy absolutely loved the green earth, and whoever was to be friends or something more to Greg then you were either a lover of the environment or you were going to be. Mycroft unconsciously knew he was going down the path of loving it.

“Never thought of it that way.” Mycroft broke his gaze to Greg and looked at the street corner ahead of them.

“Most don’t. I get that response to a lot of stuff I say and it makes me wonder how _they_ think.”

Mycroft shot his head back to Greg, suddenly even more interested. “I wonder the same all the time.”

Greg smiled wide, not looking surprised at the least. “Well lookie there, something else we have in common.”

Mycroft cocked his head a bit to the side, “Something else?”

“Yeah. We have something big in common, I’m a little shocked you haven’t noticed.”

“Well because I’m doltish of the subject at hand, mind telling me what it is we have in common?”

Greg giggled, “We’re both very different from the average people around us in many ways.” He turned his head to Mycroft and smiled tenderly.

Greg’s statement made Mycroft’s brows furrow, and it made him think. He wasn’t sure what all that entailed but somewhere inside himself he knew what Greg meant. He could feel it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Will update next week or the week after that!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I think I'll begin updating every other week or longer depending on how fast I can write these chapters. I finally finished chapter seven and I'm hoping to start chapter eight tonight. Oh and sorry for the slight sappy-ness (I guess) I get carried away in my writing sometimes. Anyway, enjoy! (Please let me know of any grammatical errors or if Mycroft calls Greg 'Greg' instead of 'Gregory,' it would be greatly appreciated because I have no beta.)

The two were sat on a stone wall by the market, the slender branches of the thin trees from behind shading them in a cool shadow. Greg had gotten the few items his mother had asked for, now sat in a paper bag on his left side, with Mycroft on his right. With Greg’s errands out of the way they were trying their best to drag out their time together which was how they ended up on the stone wall sitting farther apart than what Mycroft wanted. But all together, surprisingly, he was enjoying himself. Though watching cars and people pass by wasn’t his choice of entertainment, and he had a feeling it wasn’t Gregory’s either.

“So…” Mycroft turned his head toward Greg, whose feet could not touch the ground, even Mycroft’s were an inch or two from touching. He adopted a sarcastic tone and smiled, “I know I love watching cars and bumbling people pass by but I’m sure you’re thoroughly disinterested.”

Greg smiled, “Ok I take that as a sign. It is getting repetitive though isn’t it.”

“Very. You wouldn’t imagine the amount of black cars I was able to count.”

“Seventy-two.” Greg grinned. Mycroft furrowed his eyebrows and opened his mouth to speak but Greg cut him off. “I counted too.” He giggled and Mycroft rolled his eyes.

“Well before we start counting how many white cars pass by, what would you like to do?” Mycroft slid off the brick wall and onto his feet, brushing off his trousers.

“Uhh…I don’t know. Want to get a late lunch?” Greg hopped down, one of his legs going a bit limp and caving inward. “Ah!”

Mycroft steadied him before he lost his balance; Mycroft had quick reflexes when it came to something like this, having Sherlock as a younger brother and all. “Careful. Are you alright?”

Greg stood upright, still holding onto Mycroft’s arm just in case. “Yeah. That happens sometimes, I have weak ankles.”

“I know I would be more careful if I had weak ankles like yourself.” Mycroft lifted the bag of Greg’s purchases from its resting place and handed it to him.

Greg shrugged, “I don’t really care. It’s not painful compared to some of the other stuff I’ve been through. Oh thank you.” He smiled and took the bag, their fingers brushing as he did.

Mycroft tried to ignore the touch as best he could, but his now rosy cheeks had another thing in mind. He wondered what the other pain Greg had mentioned entailed. _Bullying perhaps?_ He decided that was another topic for another day, he didn’t want to spark up any negative conversations when the both of them were having a nice day together. “You’re welcome. Anyway, to answer your question, I would love to.” Greg gave a blank look, clearly had forgotten he had asked a question. “To have a late lunch.” Mycroft smiled tastefully.

\------------------

They sat at a round patio table underneath a dark coffee brown canvas umbrella outside of a quaint café. Squatty vases filled with wild flowers garnished each table, a light breeze carrying the sweet scents with it as it ruffled through Mycroft’s auburn hair. Greg smiled at him from across the table, propping himself up on his elbows.

“Ever been here before?”

Mycroft met his eyes and felt comfort looking into the warm chocolate brown pools, “No actually. I don’t go to many restaurants, especially cafes.”

“I’m glad I’m the reason you’re trying something new.”

Mycroft had a feeling Greg wasn’t just talking about the café. “As am I, to be honest. Going about daily life with the same routine every day becomes tedious and boring.”

“I’ll definitely agree to that. Now, I’m curious, what is it you normally do? Like, you know when you’re not with me.”

“Well…” Mycroft paused to gather his thoughts. To think about it he didn’t really do much at all. He’d occasionally read, and do chores for his mother, the only other thing he did was maybe spend time with Sherlock which typically wasn’t pleasant, just consisted of bickering. “Not anything worth mentioning..” His cheeks turned pink due to his embarrassment.

“Oh now I’m sure that’s not true. Go on, tell me.”

“..Well, normally I read if I’ve been to the library, I’ll do chores for my mother, and allow my terror of a little brother to annoy me.”

Greg smiled showing those bright teeth of his, “How old’s your brother?”

“Nine. He’ll be ten in January.”

“Mm. I don’t know what that’s like, I don’t have any siblings.”

“Oh it’s hellish to say the least, you’re quite lucky.” Mycroft leaned back in the wrought iron patio chair.

Greg’s smile widened slightly, gazing across the table at Mycroft, “Yeah. I guess in many ways I am.”

Mycroft furrowed his brows, “What do you mean?”

“I’m a lucky person, in a lotta ways.” Greg shrugged. A waitress walked out of the dim café and over to their table setting down a lemon water by Mycroft and a glass of chilled fruit tea by Greg. “Thank you, miss.” Mycroft thanked her as well and she headed back toward the darkness of the café. Greg took a sip of his tea, “As I was saying, I mean we’re all lucky if you think about it. We’re lucky to be alive, we’re lucky we can walk, and talk, and interact with people. Lucky we can see the beauty of these small little flowers. Lucky we can hear the birds and feel the wind. Lucky we can experience love and happiness.”

Mycroft had never realized all the stuff he usually took for granted that could be taken away so easily, like his hearing or sight. Even his own life. “There are some that are blind or deaf. Some that can’t walk on their own.” Mycroft sipped his water.

“Yeah but people like that need to take into consideration of what they _can_ do, or what they _do_ have. No matter what position anyone is in things could always be worse.”

Mycroft raised his eyebrows, _Fair argument._ He thought. “What about those with abusive parents or relationships? Those who are buried under dept and bills to pay?”

“If they don’t like the life they’re living then they can change it. If they can’t change it then, they can sure as hell work at it. There’s ways out of stuff and people don’t always see that. Nothing’s forever. Besides, I don’t understand how anyone could live their life like that, it’s just a waste.”

Mycroft admitted to himself once again that he was amazed by what Greg had said. The boy could be a philosopher the way he spoke and saw things. “..wow..” Mycroft blushed furiously once he realized he had spoken his reaction.

Greg smiled down at his drink, “Sorry, I get carried away sometimes.”

“I hardly call that getting carried away.” Mycroft brushed his fingertip across the rim of his ice water. “I have to say I agree with you wholeheartedly. We can change whatever we’re unhappy with, may be difficult in some situations, but not impossible.” Mycroft looked up from his glass meeting Greg’s eyes.

It took a moment but Greg’s blank, almost surprised, look turned into a wide smile spreading across his face. “Now you’re thinking like me, Mr. Practical-And-By-The-Book.” 

Mycroft rolled his eyes and stretched his thin lips into a smile before taking a sip of water. Just about that time the waitress emerged from the dim café once again, this time with a tray topped with one salad, and a slice of quiche. The two claimed their meals and the waitress was off again.

Greg took in a mouthful of lettuce and other colorful vegetables with an appreciative ‘mm’ before the waitress could make it fully through the door. Mycroft cut away the tip of quiche on his plate with the edge of his fork and took small, elegant bites, letting his practiced manners show while Greg crunched away at his…very _light_ lunch. Mycroft spoke up, “You don’t eat very much do you?”

Greg looked up from his lunch, raising his eyebrows, “Hm?”

Mycroft scanned over what was visible of Greg. “It seems you hadn’t eaten much at all for breakfast, and you only ordered a salad, which is roughly 94.9 percent water, you must be used to not consuming very much if you aren’t hungry.” _Not to mention how incredibly skinny he is. It’s almost unhealthy. …Could he be dieting? No. Couldn’t be an eating disorder either, doesn’t fit his personality type by a long shot._

“Oh. Yeah, no I don’t eat a whole lot. When I do I want it to be healthy and give me some sort of energy boost though. The more energy I get, the better.”

\-------------

The afternoon sun made Mycroft’s hair glow a delicate auburn, freckles dappling his light pink cheeks. The breeze being the only thing keeping his forehead from forming beads sweat, between Greg walking so close and the warmness of the sun he was quite grateful of it, though wasn’t paying much attention. They were too busy giggling like school children at how Greg had fooled the waitress into giving them back half of the money they owed, he did eventually stop messing around with the poor confused woman and gave her the right amount of money, but not until the woman started laughing at herself for how many times she’d fallen for what Greg told her.

As they started to cross the road, Mycroft looked over his shoulder for Greg, whom was following behind him, and his eyes grew as big as saucers. He shouted the older boy’s name and grabbed his arm, snatching him out of the path of a speeding car. Greg stumbled into Mycroft’s arms, clutching the material of his shirt clad chest, Mycroft not being the only one thoroughly startled. 

Mycroft held him tight and close, too frightened Greg would fall into the path of another car if he let go. He attempted to speak but no noise would make its way out so he only shook his head, hoping the image of Greg’s distorted body flattened on the bloody pavement would disappear. Once Greg had gathered himself he moved his head looking up at his embracer, who now had his eyes open staring down in the shorter boy’s. 

They remained like that, eyes locked, grasping each other, for what felt like hours to Mycroft but was only minutes, until finally he spoke. 

“I…I looked. I swear I didn’t see any cars coming, I-“

Greg shushed him and hugged him properly, “I don’t care if you had, you saved me. Thank you.”

“B-but you could’ve...”

“But I didn’t. Look at me.” Greg released one of his arms from around Mycroft and tipped his chin up. “I’m ok. Not a scratch on me.” Greg smiled. “Ok?”

Mycroft got lost in Greg’s chocolate eyes for a moment which seemed to help compose himself and realize Greg was fine, that everything was fine. He was still here. He was still alive. Though it hadn’t quite hit him yet how close they were, that their bodies were _flush against each other_ , that he could so easily lean forward and-

 _Beeeeeeep!_ The blatant blare of a car horn made the two jump, causing them to come back to the real world and become aware they were standing in the middle of a road lane.  
“Sorry!” Greg called, removing himself from Mycroft’s arms, “Com’on.” He said as he took Mycroft’s hand, pulling him out of the street. Once back on the sidewalk Greg let out a deep breath, still smiling as the car sped by. “Woo! That was stimulating! Heheh.” 

“Is that supposed to be a good thing?” Mycroft finally said, the slight edgy-ness from being frightened noticeable in his voice. He could feel the adrenalin from the whole event jerking knots his stomach, oh and look, there was that sweat. He was sure the fact Gregory hadn’t let go of his hand- _Gregory hasn’t let go of my hand._ Mycroft suddenly became aware, more adrenalin shooting through him. Even his hands began to get clammy. All he hoped was Greg didn’t notice.

Greg didn’t seem to notice at all, in fact. That, or he didn’t care, Mycroft was too distracted to tell. “Well it depends, to me it’s a good thing…”

Greg continued to explain his reasoning as they walked home together, neither of them mentioned the hand holding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it. Again, if there is delay on a chapter update it's because I have no time to write or have writer's block. So...yeah let's hope for the best with my writing skills.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the wait. Chapter eight is still being written and is nowhere near done, and just like any writer, I'm assuming, wants to be a good ways ahead in chapters. So, with that being said, enjoy the chapter!

He’d figured it out, he decided. Mycroft decided it was typical for a maturing male teenager to have feelings randomly like the ones he was feeling. It was not attraction, couldn’t be. As for Gregory, he concluded Greg was naturally a tactile person, liking to be close, the cuddling type. He had concluded this and refused to think about any thought that contradicted that otherwise. 

He’d sorted this all out in the means of a few hours of lying awake in his darkened room. It was six eighteen when he awoke, _I’m getting off schedule, summer is finally getting to me._ He thought when seeing the time. Not to say he wanted to stay on schedule, he’d been aiming to sleep in every day since summer had begun, but only accomplished to get an extra three minutes in.

He sat up on his elbows, leaning on his side to get a look at the digital clock resting on the bedside table. He turned the clock to face him in a swift movement, squinting. The glowing green numbers read eight fifty-seven. Flopping back down onto the bed he rolled his eyes emitting a quiet scoff. _It’s not even nine yet, what am I to do with myself? Oh how I loathe summer._ Letting his eyes rest for a moment more before he willed himself out of bed he considered what he could possibly do as to not waste the day. He treaded over to his midnight blue curtains, which could make it appear night time at any given time of the day, and slowly drew back the heavy, velvety material, allowing the bright morning sun to flood the room.

He stood there a moment, watching a woman walk by with her dog, a car or two drive past, and a group of boys go down the road. It made Mycroft sigh and lean against the window frame. _I wish I had a life like the rest of them. My life is so uneventful,_ then another thought occurred to him, _aside from my friend, Gregory. Though can I even call him my friend? An acquaintance sounds more suiting. We’ve only been spending time together for a month and a half now. Though knowing him I’m more than likely considered his friend by now._ Mycroft shook his head and moved from the window, he didn’t want to think about it anymore today.

Looking at the clock once again he finally made his way to the door and out of his room. He had just enough time to make it to the foot of the stairs to avoid being hit by a make shift pirate ship made from his mother’s laundry basket, and the young boy decked out in pirate attire sitting inside of it. The sound of the laundry basket, his yelling little brother, and a dog bumbling down the stairs made him jump. “Bloody hell, Sherlock! What are you doing?!”

The ‘pirate ship’ caught on the last step and spilled Sherlock onto the floor, Redbeard going straight to the boy and licking his face. Through laughter Sherlock exclaimed some pirate phrases that Mycroft didn’t understand.

“Mother said not to play with her laundry basket, you broke the last one. Don’t you ever listen to anything?”

Sherlock sat up letting his captain hat fall to the ground, “No, you broke it! You sat in it and broke it with your massive bum!”

Mycroft turned red and made a face that looked like someone had just slapped his mother, “My backside is not massive, Sherlock! And it’s still your fault it was broken, you pushed me into it!”

“I didn’t know it couldn’t take all that weight!”

“I’m telling mother.” Mycroft turned to head for the kitchen door.

“Mummy’s boy!”

_That_ made Mycroft pause mid-step and shoot daggers at Sherlock, “I am not!”

“Are too!”

Suddenly their mother barged in amongst the yelling, “Boys! Boys! Stop it! Contain yourselves, you’re acting like ridiculous children!” The room was quiet now.

Until Mycroft murmured, “Sherlock _is_ a ridiculous child.”

“Mycroft! Stop being mean to your brother! One day, you’re going to regret saying some things and don’t make it be things said to your family. You take that into consideration as well, Sherlock.”

Sherlock adopted his sweet innocent child voice like he always did when in trouble, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you. Now I believe being cooped up in this stuffy house is what the problem is between you two. Mycroft, why don’t you and Sherlock go to the library after breakfast, hm?”

Mycroft sighed, “Fine.” _It’s better than doing nothing I suppose._

“Can I-“ 

Mycroft cut off his little brother, “May you.”

“Interrupting is rude, Piecroft!”

Mycroft adopted a sarcastic tone, “Oh and you wouldn’t know anything about being rude would you, Sherlock?”

Before it became too loud their mother chimed in once again, “In the kitchen, both of you! I don’t want to hear a sound leave your lips!”

\-------------------------------

Mycroft pushed open one of the heavy wooden doors of the public library, holding it once inside to allow Sherlock to come through. The library wasn’t lit aside from the squatty desk lamps that decorated each table and the tall glass windows that stretched from the floor to the ceiling and bordered each wall. Dark oak bookshelves stood in rows, the shelves cram-packed with worn books of all kinds. Surprisingly, nothing was overly dusty. 

“Alright, get whatever you’d like.” Mycroft said in a bored, shushed tone as they walked past the check-out desk toward the maze of literature. He knew better than to say, ‘behave’ or, ‘don’t get into any trouble,’ because that’s exactly what Sherlock would end up doing if you told him not to, whether it was intentional or not.

“What I was planning on.” rebuttled Sherlock as he rushed straight for the aisles containing all the non-fiction that could keep him busy for _months._

Meanwhile, Mycroft made his way through each aisle and scanned each spine of each book. He’d already read all the politics and law books the library contained, and he was nearly finished with _Wealth of Nations_. He wasn’t sure what it was he was looking for, possibly he’d try a novel? He hadn’t read a novel since year seven.

He came across the gardening section and caught glimpse of a book on herbs and immediately thought of Greg. _Herbs can be very beneficial to one’s health, I wonder if Gregory would be interes-_ Mycroft shook the thought away, remembering what he had decided that morning. So he continued past the gardening and camping books, progressing on through the library.

\-----------------------

Bam! The raucous thud of books meeting the wooden desk turned heads, not making a rather ~~annoyed~~ bored Mycroft flinch in the slightest as he dropped the tower of books on the librarian’s desk to be checked out, nor did he blink when his rowdy sibling slammed his chosen few against the oak.

Before the librarian could speak, Mycroft interjected, “This will be all, thank you.” As he handed the woman his library card. The woman gave no more than a nod as she took the card.

Sherlock eyed each of the books as the woman scanned them, after seeing a trend in the books Mycroft had selected, he read aloud the title that threw him for a loop, “’One Hundred And One Activities to do Outside’?” He looked at Mycroft, “Since when?” he grinned. 

Mycroft turned red, not even giving Sherlock a glance. “Since now.” He forced out. He grew even more annoyed at himself for making such selections be these, though what was he supposed to do? _I’ve read everything else…_ He lied to himself. 

“Are they for your boyfriend?” mocked Sherlock as he acquired a sly smile. Mycroft’s cheeks turned rosy and he attempted to speak, but before he could, Sherlock cut him off. “That or, he’s all you could think about so naturally your literature choice reflected what would spark _his_ interest.”

Mycroft stopped himself before shouting anything vulgar towards his younger brother, they were in public for one, and two; he wanted to stay on the head librarian’s good side so he’d never have to pay for textbooks, he was already getting eyed by few people for the comment Sherlock had made. So to keep up his goodie-two-shoes image, the ginger crossed out the option of shouting ‘damn you!’ at his sibling. Instead he only piled his own checked-out books in his arms whispering, “For God’s sake, Sherlock, Gregory is not my boyfriend. Why can I not be friends with someone? And besides, you do not know of my preference between men or women, nor should you. It is none of your concern.”

The librarian looked up at the mention of a Gregory, a spark in her eyes. “Pardon me, but did you say ‘Gregory’? Are you..” She glanced at Mycroft’s library card. “Yes, you are. Hello, I’ve heard a lot about you.” The woman smiled and held out her hand which Mycroft shook with a bit of trouble trying not to drop any books.

Mycroft’s brows were furrowed, “Yes, hello. I don’t believe I caught your name.” He quickly scanned over the woman’s face, he’d seen her working here plenty times before; she wasn’t the head librarian but she did fill in when need be. Typically he’d seen her stocking shelves, retrieving books for people, and reorganizing once the library had new arrivals. She was a middle-aged woman, dark brown hair pulled into a messy bun, her face riddled with what could only be stress, too many sleepless nights, and worry. Though her dark brown eyes were comforting, as was her smile, both of which had a resemblance too…

“Oh! Apologies, I’m Gregory’s mother, Eva.” She smiled sweetly, “He talks so much about you and him and what you two do together.”

Mycroft raised his eyebrows and nodded, “Ah, hello, Mrs. Lestrade, how very nice to meet you.” He put on that friendly fake smile that most people couldn’t tell the difference to between that and his real one. “Gregory didn’t tell me you worked here.”

“Well why would he? Not something teenage boys really talk about, is it? Though, from what Greg has told me about you and politics then you never know hmhm.” A smile still spread across her face. She pointed a finger at Mycroft, “And don’t you dare try and show me a fake smile.” Mycroft was taken aback. He furrowed his eyebrows and cocked his head to the side slightly. She caught him. “Oh come on now, I know what a fake smile looks like. I’ve seen one too many times for my taste.”

She had this sadness in her eyes, and strong meaning behind her words. It cut through Mycroft like freezing winter wind stabbing through his fire-warmed bones. He cleared his throat, “Apologies, ma’am, I don’t mean to be rude.”

Eva smiled once again, “That’s alright, hon. I know you weren’t prepared for this.”

Mycroft began to move to the side, to no longer hold up the growing line behind him and Sherlock. “Thank you. Well, my brother and I must be going. Your hands are getting full as it is. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

Greg’s mother apologized to the next in line and started scanning books. “You too, Mycroft. Until next time.” She flashed another smile at him, and the two Holmes brothers made their way through the thick wooden doors of the library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I apologize. But just a warning, I only have two more complete chapters so when I'm halfway done with chapter eight I'll post six. I will try to be diligent with writing, but I fear it will be a long while until the next update. Thank you for your consideration, lovely readers. :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well! I do apologize for the wait! I can't remember when my last update was but I know it was a while back. So sorry! But here it is now, finally. Thanks to chapter eight which is now finished. So now on to write chap nine for another few months. Anyway, do enjoy!

Summer had turned to a close and the air quickly began to chill and welcome autumn. All the leaves turned crimson, ocher, or orange in what felt like overnight. School had started a few weeks back and Mycroft saw even less of Greg than he wanted. They had absolutely no classes together, due to the fact Mycroft was taking the most advanced classes that were available, nor did they have the same lunch time. Mycroft never saw that bright smile or jet black hair through the hallways either, granted, the campus was rather large for a secondary school. The only time they were lucky enough to meet was typically in the afternoon once school had ended for the day. After leaving English, Mycroft would venture outside and stand by the closest of the skinny dogwood trees that decorated the façade of the school, sometimes braving the brisk wind that came with the season, and wait for the boy everyone thought was too happy for his own good; everyone but Mycroft of course.

The ginger was going through his routine, leave English, come outside, stand by the dogwood closest to the school entrance, and wait. That particular day was chillier than the past few days where the air was cool but the sun was warm against the skin, but today happened to be overcast. It got cold quickly there; well to be honest it didn’t get that warm in summer or spring due to where they were located on the map, so it wasn’t that surprising. There was a light breeze to top it all off. 

Mycroft buttoned the first couple buttons of his coat, it wasn’t that chilly, but it was enough to make someone wish they had a light coat. His eyes scanned through the crowd emptying out of the school when he spotted Greg wearing a wooly dark green jumper that engulfed his skinny body. He looked cozy, Mycroft admitted to himself, but that didn’t stop his look of amusement as Greg approached, smile spreading. 

“What?” Greg asked, totally clueless.

“What on earth are you wearing?” Mycroft answered with another question that was peppered with small chuckles.

“What? I’m wearing a jumper” Greg said defensively, but in a way where it wasn’t defensive at all.

“That is humongous on you!”

“So? It’s cold.” Greg giggled.

“Good lord, it’s not the middle of winter, it’s not _that_ cold!” Mycroft had his voice raised but had giggles sprinkled through his words.

“Says the ginger!" Greg retorted, giggling. "To me it is!”

“Yes, yes I’m sure hmhm.” _As thin as he is I could only imagine.._ Mycroft thought. “And hush!" Mycroft jokingly scolded. "Are you ready?”

“’Course I’m ready. But are you? You sure you don’t wanna poke fun at my jumper anymore?” Greg joked.

“Ah I can do that on the way.” Mycroft said as he turned to walk beside his friend.

They walked side by side down the sidewalk that suffered heavy student traffic throughout the day, bracing gusts of wind as student cars rushed by. Greg was shivering just about instantly.  
“Cold-blooded are you? Hmhm.”

“Heh” Greg couldn’t help but smile. “You’d think. Though, it’d clash with my personality wouldn’t it?” Greg looked over at the taller boy

Mycroft hummed. “Yes, more accurate with me, subtract my tolerance for the cold.”

“Aw nah. I don’t see it.”

“No?”

“Nah, you show me a completely different you than what you put on for the rest of the world.”

“Glad you noticed my efforts.”

“Oh don’t lie!” Greg grinned. “It’s not an _effort._ It comes naturally and you know it.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The ginger smirked.

Greg shook his head, smiling. They walked on together in peaceful quiet for most of the walk home, the rustling leaves and the sound of cars zooming by being the main noises heard.

They were approaching Greg’s home when Mycroft turned to him. “Care for a cuppa?” Which by now was just an invitation to come over. 

“Yeah, would love too. Just gotta stop by my place real quick.”

“Very well, I can wait for you if you’d like.” Mycroft stopped at the end of Greg’s driveway.

“Nah it’s fine, I might take a bit. Go ahead to your place, I’ll be there in a few.” Greg continued on up the driveway, walking backwards as to face Mycroft as they talked.

Mycroft gave a nod. “Alright. The back door is open. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

“Ok!” Greg disappeared inside after slowly stepping up the few wooden stairs leading to the front door. From Mycroft’s perspective, he could clearly see the energy difference between Greg now and Greg from just a couple months ago. He had a hard time believing it was solely the weather and season change, though, crazier things had happened. He did remember reading an article on how weather and seasons can affect the mood and actions of some people. Greg did spend the majority of his life outside after all.

Once Mycroft was home, he was of course greeted by no one; his father didn’t return from work until later in the evening, and his mother was probably at a craft store or something of the sort to collect materials to keep herself busy while being a stay at home mum, and as for Sherlock, he was probably off playing in god knows where. Mycroft liked the quietness though; it was a nice break from loud school, and the usual ruckus of his home.

So with that being said, he toed off his shoes in the mud room and hung his satchel and coat on the rack hanging by the door, his typical school day routine, then made his way to the kitchen. He walked to the stove, flipping on the kettle, then spun around on the linoleum floor in his sock feet to make his way to the cupboard, pulling down two mugs. Shortly after he made the tea for two, now to sit and wait.

Half an hour later the kitchen was filled with the sounds of jazz pumping from a small radio placed on the window sill, Mycroft was softly humming to the tunes and occasionally swaying to the beat. The tall ginger was so absorbed in the music he never heard the back door open or footsteps making their way to the kitchen.

“I didn’t know you could dance.” 

Mycroft jumped at the sound of the familiar voice. He spun around and at the sight of his bright-eyed friend his cheeks turned a deep scarlet.  
Greg chuckled, “Sorry, didn’t mean to give you a scare. And I’m not that surprised, you’re good at a lot of things.” He said as he stepped more into the kitchen.  
The tall boy cleared his throat, finally forcing himself to speak, “No that’s quite alright. And thank you, I would barely call that dancing but I’ll accept your complement.” His words where delivered cool and collectively, but with a smile.

Greg smiled, and sat down at the kitchen table where his tea rested. “You can let your guard down, we’re not at school anymore.”

Greg often had to remind Mycroft of that, that it was just them, he was with Greg, he could be himself, didn’t have to put on a face for the world. Mycroft got in the habit of instantly relaxing once being reminded he didn’t have to pretend for Greg. “Right, I apologize. You would imagine _I_ , of all people, would remember that.” He showed a real smile this time.

Greg smiled more when he saw Mycroft come out of his shell. “Nah, I get it. You just get used to showing that…facade. Tea ready?”

“Yes, it’s been steeping a while now. Help yourself as usual.” Mycroft grabbed his own mug and began dressing it up; a teaspoon of sugar, no cream. “I admit, I do. I forget you are not just anyone.” He made a face directly after the words left his mouth, wondering what he meant by it.

Greg stood, making his way over with his own cup. “Oh yeah? Then what am I?” The black-haired boy had a gleam in his eye and an innocent grin spread across his face.  
Mycroft paused, thinking. He couldn’t find the right words in his mind to fit what exactly Greg was to him. “Let me get back to you on that matter.” He answered after a moment, then stepped to one side to stir his tea and allow his guest access to the cream and sugar.

“That complex huh?” Greg’s grin widened while he added only a dash of sugar and a bit of cream to his steamy mug.

Mycroft observed the additives being combined with the drink, committing to memory how Greg took each of his teas. He met Greg’s eye accompanied by an answer, “Possibly. I haven’t found the words best suited yet. I want to be sure to do you justice.” The last part of the sentence was slightly muffled as Mycroft raised his mug to take a sip. 

Greg hummed with a flattered smile. “No one’s ever worried about pleasing me so much other than my mum. I’m kinda flattered.” He said in a teasing tone.

Mycroft caught on, and he smirked. “Only ‘kinda’?” He leaned back against the counter, letting his legs stretch out before him, left foot crossed over his right.

“Maybe.” Greg smiled, showing off his bright teeth and pulled one of the dining table chairs out, spinning it around to face Mycroft. Mycroft could see Greg relax a little more once he was sitting, his body appeared tired. “So,” Greg said after taking a gulp of his tea, warming his insides. “If you’re so apt to pleasing me,” He remarked with another teasing tone. “You wanna go with me to a farmer’s market I heard about on Saturday?”

“Sounds lovely. I’ll join you.” _If I’m to experience something new I’d rather it be with Gregory anyway._ Mycroft thought to himself.

\---------------

Two days later Mycroft received a ring from the doorbell, running down the stairs from his room he got the door before his little brother could. It was typically a race to get their first. Opening it, hearing Sherlock groan and yell “Mycroft!” he smiled, “Hello, Gregory. Please come in, I’m just about ready.”

Greg smiled back, “Thanks. And it’s _Greg._ I’ve told you, you can call me that.” His voice never demanding. 

Mycroft only smiled, and closed the front door behind his friend. “I’ll be ready in a moment.” Was all he said as he crossed the living room and went back up the stairs, disappearing behind the walls.

Greg rolled his eyes and followed Mycroft’s movements, only stopping in the living room, eyes locking with Sherlock’s.

After a minute or two Mycroft emerged from his room in a thin, dark green long sleeve, and dark jeans; It was a slightly warmer day for late September, a t-shirt with a light jacket would even be comfortable, yet Greg wore a brown sweater that was at least not as heavy as the ones he wore the past couple of days.

Mycroft made his way back down the stairs entering the living room to see Sherlock and Greg in a silent staring contest. Sherlock’s eyes were narrowed, investigating, and cold, while Greg’s were soft and warm, just standing there letting himself be surveyed, no emotion being conveyed- _wait a minute, Gregory is slightly nervous._ Mycroft noticed.

Greg turned his head toward Mycroft, eyes still on Sherlock as he shifted a bit uncomfortably. “Your brother doing that deduction thing you were telling me about?” He said as he tore his eyes away from Sherlock, resting them on the taller Holmes, a slightly uneasy smile on his face.

“Yes,” Mycroft said slowly as he looked from Greg to Sherlock, the latter hadn’t moved, nor had his expression changed; he saw something Mycroft didn’t. “Sherlock, you’re making Gregory uneasy, you know what we talked about.” Mycroft referenced back to a lecture their mum had made him give Sherlock about how it was rude to stare and deduce if someone was obviously uncomfortable with it.

Sherlock reluctantly turned his attention to something else, whatever he saw bothering him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked! This was a fun chapter to write. Will update asap, I promise. Cross your fingers writer's block keeps its distance.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the wait, I've been working on two other works of mine (one isn't even finished yet), and I lost track of time since I've updated. After this, I only have chapter eight ready to go, I haven't even started chapter nine. I'm hoping too over the winter break I have. Anyway, I'll do my best to get to that. So enjoy the long awaited chapter seven!

“I…I apologize for Sherlock’s behavior.” Mycroft said as they escaped the house and walked up the Holmes’ driveway. “He doesn’t understand that his actions can cause others to be uncomfortable, please forgive him.”

“Oh no no it’s fine..heh. I understand.” Greg had visually relaxed and was acting like himself again once they had reached the top of the road, where eyes peering through the Holmes’ residence windows could no longer reach.

“Thank you. He..he tested positive for Asperger’s syndrome, so you can’t blame him for many of his actions.” Mycroft could still see the look on Sherlock’s face; something he saw bothered him, but what could his little brother see that he didn’t? He was smarter and more experienced with deducing than Sherlock. Though, Mycroft was, so to speak, blind in the field of deduction concerning Gregory. Either way, the thought was tearing away at him, but tried to push it away as best he could. If it had bothered his friend he didn’t want to bring it up.

The two walked through the cool streets together in comfortable silence, Greg refusing to take a cab despite his occasional shivering when a car zoomed by, blasting cold air into them. Mycroft spoke after a while of watching Greg shiver. “Are you sure you don’t want to take a cab?” He gently placed a warm hand between the shorter boy’s shoulder blades. “You’re shivering constantly now.”

Greg smiled at the concern in Mycroft’s voice. “I’m fine, I’m not too cold. I prefer to walk anyway.”

“The farmer’s market is quite a walk away…” He said, dropping his hand.

Greg chucked a bit, “I’m fine, Mycroft, really I am.” 

The taller boy sighed, and decided to give up on trying. Greg was a stubborn boy. “Well, if you’re not going to accept a cab, then I have no choice but to force my coat upon you.” Mycroft stopped in his tracks and shook out the coat he had draped across his arm, and held it out for the older boy.

Greg stopped and watched the other boy, a grin spreading across his face, as well as a hint of relief. Turning his back to the taller boy and slipping his arms in the thick fabric. “Such a gentleman.” Greg smiled.

“Just like my mother raised me.” Mycroft expressed with an almost flirty tone accompanied with his signature smirk, pulling the coat over his friend’s shoulders. “Honestly, you’re going to catch a cold if you’re not careful.”

Greg chuckled, “You sound _exactly_ like my mum. She said that exact thing yesterday when I got home from school, no lie. But really, thank you. I do appreciate this.” Pulling the coat closed and stuffing his hands in the pockets they resumed their walk. 

“Of course. And trust me, this isn’t the first time I’ve been referred to as someone’s mother.” Mycroft groaned, alluding to the many times his brother ever called him ‘mother,’ during a spat.

Greg gave out a hearty laughter, he always got a kick out of the Holmes brother’s antics and bickering, he made that clear. “You two, I swear haha!” 

The chuckles Greg emit made the pit of Mycroft’s stomach feel warm and fuzzy, his long-sleeved shirt soon became too hot but a car whizzing by saved him from breaking out in a sweat.

Once they arrived at their destination the shorter boy had to rest, explaining that he typically didn’t walk that far all at once. The taller just nodded and stated he understood. The two sat on a bench right outside the farmers market, looking on to the people sauntering along; gazing at the little booths and tables set up under canopies. Grey clouds had moved in, the sun occasionally shining through, probable that the canopies would be put to use by England’s sporadic weather. 

After a bit the two stood and wandered along with the crowd, Greg leading with Mycroft following close behind. There were so many booths to look at; everything from produce, to soap, to candles, to jewelry made from organic materials. Mycroft eventually let his guard down, feeling relaxed in the environment he was in and began making his own way to various booths, but not straying to far from the older teenager.

Greg came to Mycroft’s side as the latter was looking over an abundance of organic scented candles made of bee’s wax. Mycroft had just lifted probably the fifth candle he’d sniffed to his nose when Greg spoke. “I’m gonna get some vegetables and stuff, anything you wanna get?”

Mycroft set the lilac scented candle down gently, “Yes, I believe I’ll get some produce as well, and maybe a few other things. I quite like farmer’s markets.” He said as they walked over to a produce stand side by side.

Greg smiled, “I thought you might.” The man running the stand greeted the two teenagers and told them to help themselves, the prices drawn in fall colors on two chalk boards on either side of the stand. They were given a burlap shopping bag each and began going through the vegetables and fruits filling the wooden crates stacked upon the tables.  
After about an hour of browsing and shopping at the farmer’s market the two were headed back towards their homes each with a sack full of food and numerous other things filling the bags hanging on their shoulders. They had tasted cheeses, smelled candles, tried on jewelry (Well, Greg had. Just to get a laugh out of Mycroft who was shaking his head and calling his friend a fool.), bought things, and over all spent some time together, which Mycroft enjoyed the most. He was always his happiest when with Gregory.

The boys had chatted and walked together, (much to Mycroft’s annoyance; he had once again tried to persuade the older boy for them to take a cab) and only stopped to rest twice. But not for too long, they could smell rain in the air and knew it would be coming down soon. They were ten minutes away at most from their houses when Mycroft felt a drop of water hit his head.

“Uh-oh.” The red-head said as he looked up.

“What?” asked Greg, and right when he looked over and saw Mycroft looking to the sky he felt it too. 

“We need to hurry.” They both picked up their pace and was at a steady power walk that soon turned into a jog, that turned into a run.

The backdoor to the mud room banged open and the two teens trudged inside, huffing from their run yet smiling despite being soaked to the bone. Mycroft set the sopping wet bags in the sink, the weight of Greg’s bag held him back so Mycroft had ended up having to carry both Greg’s and his own as they ran back, Greg still falling behind. He turned to flip on the kettle, smiling when Greg laughed.

“Nothin’ like gettin’ c-caught in the rain h-heheh” Greg was shivering violently, but held his positive attitude and smile.

Mycroft could hear how cold the shorter boy was without even looking at him. “Yes I would agree. Would have been more peasant in warmer weather I must admit heheh.” Mycroft walked over to his friend and helped the boy out of the jacket he’d borrowed from Mycroft.

Mycroft had dried off and changed into a dark purple turtleneck, jeans, and a pair of white socks, his damp hair falling on his forehead in a tousled mess and curling around his ears and neck. The tall teenager had to push the dark rust colored curls out of his face as he got down on one knee to mop up the pools of rainwater they’d let drip onto the kitchen floor.

Greg entered the kitchen not long after, dressed in sweatpants and a thick wooly sweater Mycroft had let him borrow, with a blanket draped over his shoulders and pulled close. “Need any help?” He asked. His nose was red and congested, _He’ll definitely come down with a cold,_ Mycroft thought, _Hopefully nothing sever._

“No, I’m almost finished. You just sit.” It wasn’t a suggestion, it was a gentle order. The older boy complied and made a sniffly sound. Mycroft stood and rung out the sodden towel in the sink, then hung it on a rack in the mud room. Once he was back in the kitchen he took upon the task of drying and putting away the produce, as well as setting a honey scented candle on the window sill that he had bought for his mum. Once that chore was done, to warm them both up, and almost as a habit Mycroft made two mugs of steamy tea from the boiling kettle. Not even having to ask Greg how he took his tea he dressed both their mugs up and turned to face his guest, mugs in hand. “Let’s move to the den, the couch is much more comfortable than these awful chairs.” 

They made their way into the den, Mycroft allowed Greg to sit, the older boy tucking his legs underneath himself and curling up under the blanket before Mycroft handed the tea to him. Greg thanked him with a warm smile as he took the mug in both hands, the sleeves covering the majority of them from the size of the sweater. Mycroft settled to the right of Greg, close enough their legs were almost touching. Mycroft flipped on the telly and settled back beside Greg’s toasty person, letting the warm tea slip down his throat like liquid silk.

\---------------------------------------------

The television was droning on. Tea mugs left abandoned and empty on the coffee table. The soft noise from the TV washing over the two bodies nestled under the thick blanket, slumbering. Greg’s head was resting on the ginger’s chest, the latter laying back with his arms wrapped around the boy half on top of him, nose buried in Greg’s jet black hair. Their breathing synchronized and steady as they napped.

A click broke the quiet of the nearly soundless house, accompanied by footsteps and rustling of bags. Following shortly after were voices.

“Here, I’ll take those. You go get the rest.”

“Ok, mum.” Sherlock answered, handing his mother the brown paper grocery bags he was carrying before turning on his heel to retrieve the rest from the car.

“We’re home, Mycroft, dear.” Violet called as she headed into the kitchen, dumping the load of bags onto the counter. She began to think Mycroft and his ‘friend’ hadn’t returned, before spotting various vegetables and fruits air drying on one of her hand towels on the far counter that weren’t there before she left. She walked into the living room first noticing the television, then the two teenage boys clinging to each other on the couch. A smile spread across the woman’s face. 

Just about that time, Sherlock bumbled through the door, arms full of paper bags spilling over with groceries. A large can fell from one of the bags as he kicked the door shut, erupting a large thud when it met with the floor, making the ginger boy on the couch stir.

“Sherlock! Shush!” His mother hissed. “Don’t wake your brother.”

“Wha- I can’t help the cashier doesn’t know how to bag!” Sherlock snapped.

“ _Hush!_ ” She scolded, and went to collect the can from the floor, following her youngest son into the kitchen.

\-------------------------

Mycroft awoke sometime after. His senses slowly became lively, his ears absorbing the soft clangs and clutters coming from the kitchen, as well as his nose filling with tasty aromas drifting into the room. He sighed deeply and began to stretch, his brow suddenly furrowing upon noticing the weight on his body. The ginger’s eyes peeled open and came into vision, showing him the dark haired teen snuggled atop him; his right cheek smooshed into Mycroft’s turtleneck clad chest. His eyes shot open when his brain fully registered the scene that was taking place. A dark rosy color painted his cheeks and the tips of his ears, even more so when realizing his arms were wrapped around his crush’s waist. 

_Wait **what**?! Crush?? No no no no, I do not have a crush on Gregory, we are just close-..ish friends. Nothing more._ Mycroft’s thoughts came in like rapid fire, funny how he could look at any total stranger and know them and their feelings better than they knew themselves with one simple look yet be completely oblivious to his own. But his thoughts were soon ceased when the person above him was roused, his body shifting into consciousness. Mycroft hoped his pounding heart wasn’t what woke the older boy.

Greg shifted and grunted softly, Mycroft could feel him tense and his face scrunch up slightly. His head lifted a touch and turned, resting his chin on Mycroft’s chest. Lids lifted and revealed his gentle chocolate brown eyes; the windows to the soul. A soft, tired, yet bright smile spread across his face. 

The older boy opened his mouth to speak just as Mycroft’s mum walked in. “Oh! Good! You two are up!” Her sudden and echoing voice made the two boys jump, Mycroft in particular. He shot up, making Greg nearly fall backwards, a bit too quickly for him it seemed. He steadied himself by placing one hand on Mycroft’s leg, the other on the couch. 

“Oh sorry! Didn’t mean to startle you,” She continued. “Dinner is almost ready. Gregory, dear, it would be lovely if you would join us.” 

Greg looked up at her, still in a sleepy haze. “I would love too, Mrs. Holmes, thank you. I’ll phone my mum and ask.” He didn't sound as congested now; ah the wonders of good tea and rest, but Mycroft was convinced he would still come down with a slight cold if anything.

“Wonderful!” Violet exclaimed. “Mycroft, darling, come set the table for me, please. Oh and thank you for the shopping you did, you know how I love fresh veggies.” She rambled   
on as she made her way back to the kitchen, her voice becoming stifled through the layers of walls.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let it just be known I am so sorry for not updating regularly. After this chapter, only have chapter nine written. Not even one word for ten. So...updates are based on whenever my writing urges and inspirations are. SO. Enjoy! I love you all.

Mycroft pulled open the drawer to his mum’s china cabinet and lifted four thin cotton placemats out, setting them in-front of each chair on the dining room table. He headed into the kitchen to gather plates, silverware, and napkins, while trying to control his raging red cheeks from earlier events… Gregory had been a pleasing, warm weight on top of him…the way their legs and arms were intertwined…the calm rise and fall of his breathing, head resting atop Mycroft’s chest…he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering even beyond that, which, of course, now he was trying to control something much more prominent than his freckle-dusted cheeks. A surge of panic washed through him once he realized the heaviness between his legs, his thoughts going a mile a minute. _Oh good lord no no no this is the absolute worst moment, he is literally in the other room and we are about to have dinner. No no I can play it off, I’ll sit and refuse to get up until his goes away, easy. **Oh no, but Sherlock will be there.**_ Mycroft’s eyes had gone wide.

“Mycroft, darling? Are you alright?” His mum asked as she began to approach her son who’d been standing there a good two minutes with plates in hand.

Mycroft jumped back to his senses, which wasn’t necessarily good; panic, anxiety, and desire were not good mixes. He nearly dropped the plates and silverware in attempt to get away from his mother and hide his protuberant crotch. “What?! No! I-I mean I’m fine!” The tall teenager bolted from the kitchen, making his way toward the dining room. _That was too close. I do believe it would be the end of me if my mother caught me and certain…appendages in such a state as this._ Luckily, from the scare, his body began to calm and collect itself. 

And with that he began setting plates on each rectangle of cloth, and dotted the table with shining silver, topping it all off with neatly folded napkins.

Turing to go retrieve glassware from the kitchen, Mycroft ran right into his guest, making the two smile.

Mycroft spoke first, for a change. “What did your mother say?” He stepped back to give the shorter boy, he only came to about Mycroft’s eye level, appropriate space.

“She said I could stay as long as it was ok. But to not overstay my welcome; she’s funny about me being away from home for too long.” Greg gave an apologetic look.

Mycroft glanced over Greg’s face with intentions of deducing, but to no avail; all his mind filled with was the ~~adorable~~ look the teen was making. He inwardly sighed with frustration; he hadn’t known when he started having these feelings for his friend, and there was no use trying to make excuses; he’d had a boner for Christ’s sake! All he knew was that the feelings were there, and they were a complete nuisance. “Well, that’s quite alright. What matters is that you can join us for dinner, and our time together is extended.” Mycroft’s smile stretched.

“Yeah.” Greg smile broadened in return. “Oh is there anything I can help with? I don’t wanna make you all go to extra work while I’m perfectly able.”

The ginger wanted to argue that Gregory was their guest, but settled for accepting his offer. “If you insist; you may help me collect glassware for the table, and transfer the food from the kitchen to the table as well.”

Greg willingly did whatever he could, and even offered to help with any cleaning up there was to be done before dinner. With the two teen’s efforts, everyone was sitting down for their meal together in no time. Well, everyone but Sherlock; it was typically a struggle to get that boy to the table, much less eat. 

“Sherlock! Dinner!” Mycroft called up the stairs. He waited for an answer but none came. “Sherlock!” He called once more.

“I thought you didn’t like yelling for someone in the house! As I recall,” Sherlock retorted before Mycroft could finish his evocation, “’I refuse to shout in my own home like some sort of feral animal just to call you into a room, Sherlock.’” The boy mentioned mockingly imitated his brother.

Mycroft breathed in deeply and shut his eyes for a moment to stable himself. “Sherlock, I am not walking all the way up to your room to retrieve you for dinner. Now-“

Sherlock interrupted him, “Of course you’re not; you’re too apathetic towards movement!”

“Sherlock, please! We have a guest, be respectful, for _once_ in your life. Dinner, that our lovely mother slaved over for the past few hours, is ready. Come. Eat.” His voice was perfectly steady, and alarmingly deadly.

Finally, everyone was seated at the table with their plates full of food- well, ‘full’ was an overstatement; Violet had a moderate amount, Mycroft the same, Sherlock less than, and Greg…well, his small amount of food was spread out on his plate to appear like there was more.

Everyone was making light conversation, aside from Sherlock; he was busy stabbing his chicken and bringing up embarrassing subjects for Mycroft that made him blush.

“So have you kissed yet?” Sherlock suddenly blurted, making Mycroft have to pause a moment to refrain from choking.

He swallowed the lump of food in his mouth before promptly speaking. “Sherlock, we’re not-“

The younger of the two brothers interrupted the older, speaking to Greg this time. “You know he’s never kissed anyone before. Unless you count what he does with sweets; he seems to have a very close bond with them. There was this one time I walked in the kitchen and he eating this éclair and-“

“Alright! That is enough, Sherlock. Gregory cares nothing of my consumption of pastries.” Mycroft downed half of his glass of water within seconds; a sweat was threatening to break out on his forehead.

Greg only grinned. “No no, I’d love to hear what happens next.”

The ginger teen groaned. “Oh please, do _not_ encourage him.”

Then Violet decided to chime in. “Éclair? Mycroft, what were you doing to this éclair? I’m interested now.”

The teen of interest, also known as Mycroft, sighed with annoyance. “I was eating it, mother. What else could I have done with it?”

“That was an interesting way of eating if you ask me.” Sherlock mused.

“I could think of plenty things you could’ve done.” Greg suggestively grinned and took a small bite of chicken.

“No one asked you, Sherlock. And _you_ keep quiet.” Mycroft lightly kicked Greg’s foot with the side of his own and took a bite of green beans.

Greg giggled and took another small bite and a sip of water. 

“I was only stating what I saw.” Sherlock mumbled, and then pouted when there was no rebuttal from Mycroft, indicating he wasn’t going to play along.

“Well,” Violet said after a few beats of silence, minus the quiet clinks of silverware on porcelain. “Gregory, I am delighted you could join us.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Mrs. Holmes.” Greg hadn’t taken a bite of his food in a while.

“Please, dear, call me Violet. No need to be so formal with me. Oh, it is just so lovely to meet you. Mycroft has said such wonderful things.”

The teen of mention furrowed his eyebrows mid bite. “I’ve not said anything to you about Gregory.”

“Well you spend plenty of time together so I’m going to imply he’s a lovely lad.”

“Not to mention how much you think about him.” Sherlock mumbled into his spoonful of potatoes.

Mycroft refrained from reacting to his little brother’s comment as to not fuel the fire, so to speak. Although, he couldn’t refrain from his face turning beet red.

Greg didn’t seem to mind, Sherlock’s little statement prompted him to look at Mycroft with a cute, almost coy, smile.

“Anyway, Gregory, tell me about yourself. What do your parents do?” Violet continued. 

Greg turned his attention to her. “Oh uh my mum’s a librarian. At the library Mycroft and Sherlock go to.”

“Really? What a small world hmhm. What does your father do?”

Mycroft noticed Greg tense ever so slightly out of the corner of his eye.

Greg looked down. “Um…I don’t really know. I haven’t seen my dad since I was eight.”

“Oh no…I’m so sorry, dear. I didn’t know, I wouldn’t have asked.”

“No no it’s fine. It’s not a big deal to me much anymore.” Greg gave a slight shrug and a sad smile.

Mycroft could tell he was lying. Greg’s actions didn’t fit with his words. 

He wanted to ask so many questions; why did his father leave? What happened to him? Is he alright? What happened when Gregory was eight? But he couldn’t do that to Greg. It wouldn’t be right to ask.

“Alright. I do apologize, though, dear. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Thank you, Violet.” Greg smiled genuinely. “What does Mr. Holmes do?” Greg took a small bite of chicken.

“Business. He works with selling lord knows what. It changes nearly every week. I’m sorry he couldn’t join us, he’s away on a business trip.”

“Oh that’s ok. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting him yet.”

Mycroft was still so surprised at how well Greg was with conversation, no matter with what age group.

The rest of dinner passed with ease with no more uncomfortable subjects brought up- well, none that made Greg uncomfortable. But Sherlock made sure to embarrass Mycroft just a little more.

Afterwards, everyone helped clear the dining room table and move all the plates and food to the kitchen. Greg insisted he help wash the dishes, but Violet refused to let any guest in her house do such chores, but graciously thanked him for his consideration.

Once the table had been cleared, Mycroft moved back to the dining room to peel the soiled table cloth from the sturdy wood, folding the linin in on all sides so no crumbs could escape onto the clean hardwood floor. 

He brought the bundle into his arms and turned on his heel to head toward the washroom.

Mycroft walked down the hallway and stopped in his tracks when he caught a glimpse of Sherlock and Greg in the living room, speaking quietly.

He ducked behind the corner, they hadn’t seen him. Mycroft wasn’t the snooping type, but considering what had happened between his little brother and Greg earlier today before they left out for the market, he didn’t want to interrupt. And knowing them, they probably wouldn’t tell him what they were talking about. They had that right, of course, but that didn’t stop Mycroft’s curiosity.

As he peered from behind the corner, Sherlock came into his sight, and then Greg. They were speaking soft enough to the point it was hard to hear past the clangs and clutters from his mum washing dishes in the kitchen, and it seemed he entered a bit late in the conversation.

“And he doesn’t know?” Sherlock asked, his voice and the way he held himself were serious.

Greg shook his head. “No. He doesn’t.” He seemed a bit distressed; his feet were shuffling and his hands were stuffed into his pockets.

There was a beat of silence before Sherlock spoke. “Do not hurt my brother.” He warned.

Greg shook his head once more. “I wouldn’t dare, I promise, I won’t.” He looked Sherlock straight in the eyes, just as serious.

There was a stare-off for a few beats while Sherlock took what Greg said and analyzed it for lies. “But what will happen when-“ 

But Greg cut him off. “Don’t think like that. I know it’s hard not too, trust me, I know better than anyone. But you just can’t think like that.” 

This was the most humorless and serious Mycroft had ever heard him, and it bothered him greatly. He tried to follow along, but between his gut screaming that he shouldn’t be hearing this, their quietness, and the banging from the kitchen, he couldn’t make any sense of it. God, if only he’d caught the beginning of them talking.

Sherlock finally nodded after another stare-off. “…Ok. Just…you promise you won’t hurt him?”

“I will do everything in my power, but just know if things…if things go downhill I won’t push him away. I’ll make it his choice.”

Sherlock was at first hesitant to nod, but in the end did. “Ok. And I won’t-“

There was a loud bang in the kitchen that stifled the rest of Sherlock’s sentence, and Mycroft cursed his mum silently that she was such a klutz.

“Thank you.” Was all Mycroft caught Greg saying after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been awhile. School is hellish. 
> 
> Anyway, I personally love this chapter, I hope you do too. Oh and just a note; this story hasn't been beta'd.
> 
> Enjoy!

Greg’s cold started to rear its ugly head and the older teen insisted he better get home once he had rejoined his host.

Mycroft noted how his ‘friend’ appeared drained, even his usually bright eyes were tired, but Mycroft could see near dread in the way he held himself.

That being said, he reached out to grab his hand and ask if he was alright, but instead, to Greg’s surprise, Mycroft pressed the back of his hand to his sick ‘friend’s’ forehead. “Tsk. What did I tell you?”

Greg broke out into a sweet, sheepish smile. 

Mycroft took his hand away. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re sick, and I warned you. You have none of my pity.” Of course, that was a lie, and Greg knew it. 

“C’mon, walk me home.” Greg said as he tugged the ginger boy’s arm toward the door, his groceries and other frills from the market in a bag in his other hand. 

“Ah-ah, not like that.” Mycroft shot back while he changed their course to the coat rack. He then proceeded to layer Greg in two coats, a thick scarf, and a wooly toboggan. 

“There, now I can walk you home.”

“What about _your_ coat, mum?” mocked Greg.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “You’re a child.” He said as he tried to hide his smirk as he pulled on a coat of his own. “Mother, I’m taking Gregory home.” He called to the kitchen.

Violet popped her head around the corner. “Alight, dear. Greg, sweetie, do join us again. You are lovely company.”

Greg smiled sweetly. “Thank you, Violet. You and your family are as well. And I definitely will.”

“Wonderful. Have a good evening.” She decided to keep their goodbyes short, it was turning into dusk and his mother must be home by now. 

“You too.” He replied before stepping out into the cool September air, Mycroft following behind.

They walked in comfortable silence for the short distance, neither in any hurry.

Once at the top of Greg’s driveway they both stopped and turned toward the other.

“I can run in real fast and change so you can get your clothes back if you want.” Greg spoke like that was the only thing he could think of to say.

“No, don’t trouble yourself. Just bring them next we see each other. I will have your soaked garments washed and dried, ready for your return as well.”

Greg smiled showing his beaming teeth in the velvety blue of dusk. He adopted a mocking tone. “So posh.” He giggled as Mycroft hit his arm.

The one doing the hitting couldn’t help but smile himself. Gregory was just too fun and upbeat, even when he was sick. 

Oh right.

“Get inside before your cold manifests into influenza.” Mycroft gave Greg a little push.

“Ok ok, only because you want me too.” He mumbled as he made his way up the pavement. 

“Whatever keeps you unharmed.” Mycroft called to him.

“Aww you’ve got a soft spot for me.” Greg grinned.

Mycroft gave a smile that didn’t deny the accusation, but didn’t agree to it either, but was all too well telling. “Good evening, Gregory.” He said as he turned, making his way back to his own abode.

Greg grinned even more. “It’s Greg, smart arse!” He shouted after him.

Mycroft just smiled as he walked back home.

\------------------------------------

About a week passed since the two boys had seen each other. Greg hadn’t even been at school, so Mycroft spent walks home realizing just how lonely he was when he wasn’t with his black haired companion. So surprising how something someone used to always do becomes so foreign once change ensues. 

He even had expected to see that bright smile from the other side of a window as he passed by the teen’s house on the walk home from school. But there was nothing.

It was Saturday, and the worry was eating him alive. He so badly wanted to walk straight to Greg’s house and demand to see him, but that would be rude and he’d never have the nerve to be so outright.

 _As they say; I’ve got it bad…oh lord…_ Mycroft thought and sighed deeply, staring out of the window watching the vibrant orange, dead brown, and golden yellow leaves flutter to the ground. _What am I to do…_

Luckily, he didn’t have to ponder on what to physically do for too long; right about that time his mum called for him, asking of a favor. 

“Mycroft, dear?” Violet stood at the bottom of the stairs calling up to Mycroft whom was located in that tiny, cramped library both the Holmes boys shared.

Mycroft broke his gaze from the dust framed windows and turned it toward the stairs. “Yes, mother?”

“Could you do me- well, more your father a favor?”

And that’s how the auburn teen ended up outside, with a rake in his hand. 

Thankfully, it was one of those rare sunny fall days, with only a light breeze too. The sun was warm on Mycroft’s freckly skin as he raked the no longer dancing leaves he admired not even a half hour ago. Though, the rays of light breaking through the ever so random cloud were not to last, and with the ground covered in leaves from front to back, Mycroft knew he had to work diligently. He was not about to handle and rake slimy, wet leaves the next day. 

“Gregory may be able to change my thoughts about sitting upon grass, and walking to our destinations, but one thing he won’t do is change my mentality on yard work.” The younger teen murmured in a mildly pungent manner as he brought one pile of leaves together.

“Is that so?”

Mycroft froze. He could hear that sure smirk in every letter of those three words. He looked up. “Speak of the devil.” He felt himself give a smile that could both hug and strangle the boy in front of him.

Greg only grinned in that dazzling way he does. “Aww somebody missed me.” He teased.

Mycroft planted the rake before himself, placing both hands at the top of the post. “I see you are well to be flirtatious as you are.” Mycroft’s smile stayed the same but with a twinge of slyness. Though, inside, he was highly relieved the older boy was back to normal. Whatever normal was to him, anyway.

“I don’t haveta be well to be flirty.” Greg winked. “But I am better. I’m happy to see you were concerned about me.” He pushed off the tree he had been leaning against and walked closer to Mycroft’s vicinity, keeping a far enough distance not to disturb the red head’s work, a bag in his hand.

Said red head continued raking. “Did you think I wouldn’t be?”

“Nah, I knew you would, just like seeing it firsthand.”

“Egotist.” Mycroft shot and glanced up from his work with a cheeky smirk. 

Greg’s mouth dropped with a gasp and he laughed, hitting him with the bag he was holding. “How dare you call _me_ an egotist, Mr. I’m Too Posh To Shop With Peasants or I Was Once Too Stuck Up To Sit In The Grass.” 

Mycroft beamed a smile and chuckled, using the rake as a defense against Greg’s bag attack. “I am _not_ ‘stuck up,’ I have no idea where you get these impossible thoughts, Gregory.” Mycroft said in his most posh voice in his sarcastic tone.

“ _Greg,_ you _stubborn git._ ” Greg said sternly but with a laughing grin that imposed no seriousness. 

“My, my, when did you become so hostile? That cold changed you drastically.” The ginger mocked with his sarcastic smile, distractedly raking.

“Oh hush.” Greg giggled. “I brought your clothes back.” The older boy said, holding out the cloth bag he previously hit him with.

“Oh, thank you. You may take them inside if you wish.” Mycroft said as he tried to remain focused on the task at hand. “Is it even healthy for you to be out here at the moment?” He looked up a moment to eye Greg.

The older boy shrugged his shoulders. And it was hard to be mad at him when he gave that utterly cavity causing sweet smile, Mycroft noted for not the first time. 

Still, Mycroft tried. “Gregory, I swear…” The ginger trailed off shaking his head. “You're just as stubborn as Sherlock sometimes.”

“Great minds think alike.” 

“I'm not certain to whether you just complemented my brother, or insulted yourself.” Mycroft retorted.

Greg broke out in laughter, making Mycroft smile grow wide and crinkle the corners of his eyes.

“Alright, at least allow me to offer you tea so you’re less likely to get sick again.” Mycroft gave hopeful puppy dog eyes- not that he was aware he was giving them.

“Ok, ok.” Greg said like he was defeated, but there was no real defeat or resistance to Mycroft’s offer. “But in all reality; you can’t go on worrying about me all the time. Worrying won’t get ya anywhere.”

“And why not?” Mycroft countered. 

“Because it’s wasting time you won’t get back; I’ll still do what I always do, and you’ll just be fretting.”

 _It isn’t wasting time if it’s about you,_ Mycroft thought. “I do not ‘fret,’ Gregory, dear.” He gave a poised, affable smile. “Now, come. I will put the kettle on.” He set his rake to lean against the closest tree and brushed imaginary dirt off of his glove clad hands before gesturing to follow into the cozy, two-story house.

The boys had tea, and talked for hours; Mycroft did a recap of each day Greg had missed from the past week, and briefly caught him up with his studies and classes, even though they didn’t have a single class together. The freckly red head would have gone more in detail with what Greg had missed learning, but he didn’t want to bore the boy, and most certainly not waste any more time conversing about school when it was right around the corner. They’d always have school, at least for a few more years; they’d not always have this valuable time to spend together.

That being said, they spent the entire day together. Mycroft didn’t give a second thought about the unfinished task in the front yard, not even when it rained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive reviews are always welcome. Hope you enjoyed the chapter. :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The writer's block is real in my life, so cherish this chapter because 11 is giving me hell and won't be done anytime soon. Out of school and all snowed in, this writer's block will eat me alive. Send help- or kudos/kind messages, those work too. 
> 
> (P.S. I know nothing about restaurants in England, I just googled slightly formal restaurants and thought The Ivy worked, but I have no idea, so if I made a mistake forgive me, I'm a sheltered American that's never been out of my own country, as this fic has also not been brit-picked and is not beta'd. :P)

Mycroft woke up at precisely nine a.m. He had purposely kept himself up late last night so he’d sleep in and sleep at least an hour or two away of his dreaded- 

“Happy birthday, Mikey!” Came the shrill chime of his mother’s voice as she noisily assaulted his door, invading his room. She made her way to the darkening velvet curtains and pushed them open for good measure, causing light to rudely flash in, erupting a groan from the teen in bed.

Said birthday boy was scrubbing at his aching eyes, face twisted in brash irritation. He could already feel his forehead throbbing. He had _just_ woken up for Christ’s sake; he didn’t expect to have a headache emerge until he had at least had breakfast. 

“Mother…” The lethargic teen started, attempting to keep his short-tempered cool with the woman. After all, she really only meant well. “You know I don’t like celebrating my bir-“

“Birthday, I know.” She interrupted. “But you’re seventeen now! The last year you’ll be living under the same roof with all of us, considering you will most likely graduate early and head off to university.”

He sighed. Birthdays had always been more for the parents than the children, Mycroft had thought since a young age. Birthdays are a way for the parents to celebrate another successful year of their child being healthy, and being one step closer to becoming a good citizen to society and have the stereotypical perfect life; a partner, children, home, job, dog, white picket fence, and fake smiles. _How dull._ He thought.

But, if his mother wanted too, and was happy making a little fuss about it, who was he to stop her?

“Very well.” He said, exasperated. _“If you must.”_ He put emphasis on each of the three words.

“Oh hush, you. I haven’t planned anything extravagant, the day is free to do whatever you want, darling.” Mycroft gave a silent sigh of relief. “But,” His mother continued, and he tensed ever so slightly, expecting the worst. “I have made reservations for all of us to meet your grandparents, aunts, and uncles for dinner tonight at eight.”

Mycroft fell back into his pillow dramatically, groaning as he did so. He covered his face with his hands, mumbling. “You said there wouldn’t be anything extravagant!”

“That isn’t extravagant!” His mum defended.

Mycroft peaked out from behind his hands, sporting a glare. “At what restaurant are we having dinner at tonight, mummy?” He said dangerously, though he already knew.

Violet went silent for a moment, knowing she’d been verbally backed into a corner. “…The Ivy.” She said eventually, in a tentative voice.

“Mother!” 

“What? It’s not _that_ formal! Just dress nice, as you always do!”

 _Why is it October._ Mycroft groaned, for the third or fourth time that morning, loudly into his hands. And that was the end of it. 

Mycroft eventually made his way downstairs after mentally preparing himself for Sherlock’s bullshit. His little brother was always adamant on making everyone's life even more of a living hell when it was a holiday or occasion. Ask Mycroft why and he still doesn't know; he's been trying to figure that out himself ever since Sherlock figured out what made people tick, which for him, was at a very young age.

He didn't even have time to take two steps into the kitchen, Sherlock was already spouting off irritants and vague insults such as, “Morning, birthday blob,” and, “Don't think because it's your birthday you'll be able to eat cake for breakfast, but when you do dive in face first warn me before you do; I'd rather not watch you suck face with a pastry.”   
Mycroft highly considered just going back to bed. But doing that didn't give Sherlock the satisfaction he wanted, giving him all the more reason to pull out the big guns and really do some damage to Mycroft’s nerves. That was the last thing he needed or wanted. So he elected to sit at the table, farthest as he could from his brother.

“Good morning to you as well, brother dear.” The ginger droned, exasperated.

“Sherlock, be nice. It is your brother’s birthday. Cease your insults for _at least one day._ ” Their mother half pleaded half demanded, continuing to cook her two boys their breakfast.

Sherlock grumbled into his cup of milk, dark curls shading his eyes as he lowered his head.

Without turning around she added, “And don’t fill your stomach with drink, Sherlock Holmes. You’ll have no appetite.”

“So what? Food only slows me down anyway.” The nine year old defended. 

“Sherlock…” Their mother sighed.

\------------------------------

The two ate their breakfast, Sherlock barely eating a third of his, then being scolded by the woman of the house. Mycroft, by that time, had thanked her for breakfast and retreated from the kitchen back to his room to dress. Directly after, he hid in the small library upstairs, doing his best to avoid anything to do with his birthday. 

He hated making a commotion about his birthday; he didn’t think it was a big deal. It was only the day he was born, what made him so important all of a sudden? He’d never believed people when they’d say he’d be important in the world, or do anything big. The odds where, well, too odd!

Suddenly, the chime of the doorbell sounded, making Mycroft look up. It was rare when the doorbell rang, and when it did it was always-

“Gregory!” Violet exclaimed with surprise. “I had no idea you were coming, come in come in, dear.”

Greg was beaming. “Hello, Violet. Yeah, uh Sherlock phoned my house, told me it was Mycroft’s birthday.” He said cheerily, holding a small potted succulent plant. 

She gasped. “Oh my goodness, how sweet…” She placed her hand to her chest. “He really is a lucky boy.”

Before Greg could respond he was being grabbed by the hand from the youngest Holmes, who’d ran in at the sound of Greg’s voice, and pulled him toward the stairs. “C’mon! C’mon!” Sherlock shouted.

Mycroft’s heart skipped a beat when he heard Greg’s voice. He couldn’t hear the conversation being held, but he did hear Sherlock dragging their guest up the narrow flight of stairs. He quickly pretended he was reading when he caught sight of his brother’s dark brown curls bouncing up the steps, followed by the jet-black of Greg’s hair.

“Mycroft!” Sherlock shouted through the open door of the library. “Look who’s here to see you!” He said as he dragged Greg in behind him.

Mycroft started to scold his younger brother. “Sherlock, stop it, you’re being-“

“Helpful. Yes. Now you can celebrate your birthday happily.” Sherlock spoke with volume as he headed out of the broom closet of a library, leaving the two teenagers alone before Mycroft could say any more.

After a brief moment of silence the two teens met each other’s eyes and Greg smiled sweetly. “Happy birthday, Mycroft. This um…is for you heh.” He held out the plant to him.

Mycroft’s mind halted and refused to work for a couple of seconds. Forcing himself to think he blinked a few times and formed a coherent sentence in his mind and stood.

“Gregory…I…thank you.” His cheeks turned a rosy pink and his lips stretched into an adoring smile as he accepted the potted succulent.

Greg grinned with delight. “I figured since you don’t care much about going outdoors, you could have a small part inside with you.”

Mycroft’s eyes and smile softened. “Gregory…this is wonderful.”

“You really like it? I mean it’s a plant and I really thought that was reaching but..”

“No, I love it.” The now seventeen year old ginger assured him, smiling all the same as he set the succulent right by the window on the table where he always sat to read.

Greg’s smile softened, rid of nervousness. “Great.” He said before he went on to explain how to care for the plant.

Mycroft listened, even though deductions already told him all he needed to know about the gift, and after a bit they found themselves sitting across from each other at the table where the succulent now lived.

“I really do love this gift.” Mycroft said as he rubbed a thumb over one of the waxy leaves. “I typically don’t like recognizing my birthday, but I suppose you’re the exception.” He cast his eyes up into Greg’s with a soft smile, illuminated by the light of the window making his eyes gleam and ginger hair glow.

Greg gazed at him with a tender smile. “Seems like I’m the exception to a lot of things.” He said knowingly. “Why don’t you like recognizing it?”

Mycroft shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve just never deemed it important.”

The black haired boy furrowed his brows. “Never deemed what important? The day of your birth?”

“That is what I said, yes.” The other answered.

Greg looked confused. “…why?”

“You’d call me ridiculous or disagree with me if I told you.”

“That I know you’re right about.” Greg smiled. “But tell me anyway.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes at Greg’s persistence but smiled all the same. “It’s just a day I happened to be born on. To anyone who doesn’t know me, it’s just a regular day for them. Birthdays are more..for the parents of the child anyway.”

Greg gave a confused look.

Mycroft shook his head. “It’s fine, you wouldn’t understand.”

“No, I understand. I think I understand more than you think I do. About a lot of things.” Greg said, face entirely serious.

Mycroft just stared at him, not sure what to say next, so Greg continued.

“Don’t treat me like just anyone. Because I’m not.” He placed his tan hand on Mycroft’s paler one. “I do understand. If I didn’t would I have stuck around for so long?” 

It took Mycroft a couple beats to get his thoughts together and remember what Greg had said right after his hand had landed on Mycroft’s own. “I-I..n-no, I suppose not.”

Greg smiled, teeth bright even as darkness shrouded his body from the sun’s position. “You never suppose.” His smile spread to a grin.

Mycroft smiled and blushed. Maybe Greg really did understand. Not that that made him any special, any one could understand anybody. What made Greg special was he put the time and effort and tried too.

Just then, Mycroft heard Sherlock’s voice ring through his mind. _‘Now you can celebrate your birthday happily.’_

“I’ll have to thank Sherlock.” Mycroft met Greg’s eyes with a sweet smile.

Greg’s eyebrows quirked. “For what?”

“For giving me a happy birthday.” His smile spread. 

\--------------------------------------

Mycroft finished tucking in his light blue button up into his dark grey trousers snugly strapped in a black leather belt. He stood looking at himself in the full length mirror, not even paying attention to his reflection. Instead, he sighed. It wasn’t a bad sigh; it was a good one, a relaxed one.

Greg had stayed up until it came time for the family unit to prepare themselves for their dinner out. It had been great. If Greg could make it, maybe birthdays wouldn’t be so trivial any more. He honestly liked being the center of attention if it meant it was Greg’s attention he was taking. 

Mycroft stood tall and turned to the side looking at himself, smiling at what he saw before turning on his heel walking out of his room and down the hall. He stopped at the second door past his own and knocked. “Sherlock?”

He heard the sound of clothing being rumpled and a few aggravated grunts but no response. “Sherlock?” He repeated before opening his little brother’s door and stepping in to see his bean pole of a brother wearing a purple button up two sizes too big jutting out in sharp peaks from his black trousers.

“Do these imbeciles make any size that will fit a child that _isn’t_ hefty?!” Sherlock shouted upon his brother’s entrance.

Mycroft’s eyebrows climbed. He assumed Sherlock meant the manufacturers. “And what, exactly, do you consider ‘hefty,’ brother dear?” He asked as he walked to his brother, kneeling down to tuck in the shirt properly for him. 

“You.” Sherlock answered bitterly. 

Mycroft tisked. “Well, you aren’t exactly the size of an average nine year old.” The ginger said, hinting at his younger brother’s premature birth.

“Whatever.” Sherlock huffed and crossed his arms. “I’m not the only child that was ever born premature. They ought to have a larger range of sizes.” He grumbled. “I shall write a strongly worded letter!” The curly headed boy stuck his nose up in the air arrogantly.

“You do that.” Mycroft mumbled. He inwardly thought his brother’s dramatic antics were adorable. “There.” He said after making his brother’s shirt look presentable. 

Sherlock turned and when he did Mycroft caught him in a hug, making his eyes widen at the unexpected action. Sherlock usually wasn’t physical unless he was upset or hurt, but he returned the embrace.

“Thank you.” Said Mycroft.

“For..?” Sherlock trialed off.

“I know you phoned Gregory.” He smiled.

Sherlock blushed. “Oh. That. Yeah, I-“

“I did have a happy birthday.” Mycroft interrupted.

“Well of course you did. I knew you would.” He mumbled and shrugged, brushing it off as nothing, even though it was obvious he was jubilant by learning he made his brother have a happy birthday.

Mycroft sometimes had to remind himself Sherlock was a bashful nine year old; his little brother had such a big vocabulary, and an intelligence to match, making Mycroft think Sherlock was so much older than he really was. His height didn’t help either; Sherlock may be a preemie, but he definitely took on their father’s height.

Mycroft hummed a giggle and kissed the top of Sherlock’s head. “Well, thank you, again.” He rose from where he had kneeled. “Now, let’s continue this wonderful birthday with a nice meal with family, hm?”

Sherlock made a face like Mycroft had gone mad. “Ok you’re a little too happy to anticipate dinner with our extended family.”

“I not once used ‘anticipated’ in my sentence; I used ‘nice’ to describe the food.” Mycroft corrected wittily, making Sherlock grin as they walked out down the stairs together.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took so long! School has been demanding my life. I'm so surprised this got finished during this week. Anyway, enjoy it!
> 
> Extra note: there is a part in here that jokes about diabetes, I do not intend to offend, But if I do offend in some way I apologize.

Mycroft opened the front door, stepping in the threshold with his school bag slung over his shoulder.

“Hold still, Sherlock.” Violet said, attempting to pin a long sheet of black fabric to Sherlock’s shoulders, the nine year old fidgeting in place.

“What are we going to be this year?” Mycroft asked, walking past toward the stairs. “And by ‘we,’ I meant ‘you.’”

“A vampire.” Sherlock answered. Unlike the last few years; ever since Sherlock could decide on what to be for Halloween he’d always been a pirate, no doubt this year their mother insisted on a change.

“A vampire?” Mycroft raised a brow. “That’s unlike you.”

“Well mother rejected Charles Darwin, Alan Turing, Stephen Hawking, or anyone else important!” The curly haired boy huffed. “She insisted I be something _‘scary.’”_ He rolled his eyes then yelped when a pin stuck him.

“I told you to hold still.” Violet said in response, all of them knowing she’d poked him with the pin purposely, making Mycroft smirk.

“Shut up.” Sherlock spat at Mycroft.

“I don’t believe I said anything, brother dear.” Mycroft said coolly as he shed his bag and layers, hanging them on the rack by the stairs.

“You were thinking. But don’t worry; I’ll be the one smirking soon enough when you have to take me trick-or-treating.” Sherlock sneered.

Mycroft sighed deeply. “Mother, _must_ I?”

“Yes, you must.” Violet answered.

“But…why? What if I have plans?” The red head tried. Sherlock snickered, Mycroft gave a glare in return.

“Do you have plans on Halloween night?” She inquired.

“No, but I-“ Mycroft started but was cut off.

“Well you do now.” She finished for him.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and silently stormed off to the kitchen to drown his frustration in a cup of tea.

“I hardly ask much of you, Mycroft. Taking your little brother trick-or-treating shouldn’t be a surprise to you, as you do so every year. Have fun with it! Dress up, ask Gregory to join you.” Said Violet while she trimmed what was going to be a cape to the right length.

“I will not be participating in something so childish, and I highly doubt Gregory will want to accompany me in my trek through the neighborhood.” Mycroft said, remembering their walk to the farmer’s market. “And speaking of Gregory, he’ll be coming over shortly.”

A few moments later and the doorbell chimed, and Sherlock shouted, “Piecroft, your boyfriend’s here!” Loud enough to be heard through the whole house and the outside. Redbeard even started barking.

“Sherlock!” Violet scolded.

“Oh good lord!” Mycroft yelled, emerging from the kitchen and walking quickly to the door, swinging it open. “I apologize, it’s a bloody zoo in here. Do come in.” Mycroft huffed out and stepped away from the door allowing Greg in. Mycroft made his way back to the kitchen leaving Greg to the mercy of his mum and brother.

Greg chuckled and entered, shutting the door behind him. “It’s fine, Mycroft. Hello, Sherlock, Violet. Getting ready for Halloween I see.”

“Hello, dear. Yes, we are. I make Sherlock’s costume every year.”

“Handmade costumes are more special. My grandma used to make mine.” Greg replied just as Mycroft was walking back in with two mugs of tea, handing one to Greg. “Thank you. Speaking of Halloween, what are your plans?” The black haired boy asked.

Mycroft sipped his tea. “I have to take Sherlock trick-or –treating.” The ginger answered.

“You say that like you don’t want too.” The older boy stated.

Mycroft made a face in reply, confirming Greg’s accusation. 

“Well..mind if I join you?” Greg offered.

“If you want too I wouldn’t object in the slightest.” Mycroft responded.

“Oh just kiss already!” Sherlock shouted at the two teens.

“Sherlock! I swear to-“ Mycroft started.

“Don’t deny it, Piecroft!”

“Sherlock, stop antagonizing your brother!” Violet reprimanded.

\---------------------------------------------

Halloween night came and Sherlock eagerly jumped into his homemade vampire costume and was currently plastering his makeup on with the help of their mother.

Mycroft was forced to wear an orange jack-o-lantern shirt with black trousers and was currently sitting in the den waiting for Greg.

The doorbell sounded and Greg was let in, he was dressed in a costume shirt that resembled a police uniform, with a police hat to top it all off on his head.

“Happy Halloween!” Greg grinned.

“And a pleasant hallows eve to you as well.” Mycroft smiled back.

“Oh loosen up, will ya.” The black haired boy chuckled.

Mycroft was too focused on how good Greg looked in a police hat to really take Greg’s words to heart and put them in effect. But thankfully his brain supplied him with something to say in return. “How can I? Sherlock has been hay wire all day. I’m exhausted and the evening hasn’t even begun.” He sighed and fell back on the couch.

Greg stood there and stared at him for a couple beats. “You’re a drama queen.” He stated and sat beside him.

Mycroft scoffed in return. “Excuse me? _Queen?_ ”

Greg only kept his jackarse smile and adopted a posh tone to mock Mycroft’s own. “Quite.”

Just about that time Sherlock barreled down the stairs swinging a clunky orange plastic bucket, Red Beard at his tail chasing the red and black cape whizzing behind the nine year old.

Red Beard instantly came to Greg, licking all over his face.

Greg chuckled and rubbed the ruddy red Irish Stetter. “Hey, buddy, haha.”

Mycroft was so caught up with watching the fluffy dog give affections to his friend that Sherlock took the opportunity to sneak up from behind and scare the living daylights out of his older brother.

Mycroft jumped and let out a yelp, prompting the younger Holmes to burst out laughing. 

“Oh don’t flatter yourself, Mycroft. I have no craving for your diabetes blood.” Sherlock managed to get out between his laughter.

The teen turned red and shoved his little brother back. “I do not have diabetes, Sherlock! I do not even consume that much sucrose!”

“If that’s so then I better not catch you raiding my candy when I’m in bed tonight!” The younger declared.

“ _Bed_?” Mycroft laughed skeptically. “Who are you kidding? As much sugar you’ll consume the only time you’ll be caught near a bed is when you’re jumping on it.”

Greg cut in before Sherlock could. “Ok, kids, we’re burning moonlight. Let’s head out and have some fun.” He said as he gathered the two Holmes’ together, ushering them to the door.

“The moon isn’t even out yet, Graham!” Sherlock spout out while stepping through the door.

“His name is Gregory, Sherlock.”

“It’s _Greg._ ” The black haired teen corrected, laughter trailing behind his words.

\-------------------------------------------

Sherlock was running from house to house, quickly starting to fill up his plastic pumpkin while Mycroft and Greg followed behind at a reasonable distance, every now and then one of them having to reel the nine year old back in when he was straying too far off.

Mycroft was very grateful for Greg being there with him; as snotty as his little brother could get, Greg somehow had a way with him. Sherlock was quicker to listen to the older teenager than his own brother, likely just to spite him.

It didn’t take long for the younger Holmes to tire out when he was satisfied with the weight of his candy load, and willingly retired into Mycroft’s arms as they made their way back home.

With the bean pole of a nine year old slung over his shoulder, Mycroft quietly shared childhood Halloween memories with the candy-carrier Greg who only once needed to sit and rest the whole trick-or-treating trek, though neither could deny they were exhausted.

Once they had reached the Holmes residence, Mycroft handed over the snoozing youngster to their mother, being sure to hand her the weighty bucket of candy for her to check.

Mycroft turned to Greg as Violet took Sherlock upstairs to ready him for bed. “Care to stay? It’s awfully late.”

“I wish I could, but I have to run things like that by my mum first. She doesn't like pop ups and stuff at last minute usually. She's funny about that.” Greg answered through his sleepy tone.

“I understand completely. My mother used to be the same, but after Sherlock was born she gave up and went with whatever we wanted to do as long as it was sensible.” 

Greg chuckled at that.

“Well, since you're returning home, would you like an escort?” Mycroft smiled as he asked.

Greg of course returned the smile equal in emotion. “I would love one.”

With that being said, Mycroft walked his friend home, said their goodbyes and see-you-tomorrow’s or the next day’s, and continued on back home to end the not-so-bad-after-all Halloween night with a hot shower, good book, and a recap of the night in his head to ease him into sleep.

October came to a close after Halloween, and November flew by leaving everyone in the late weeks of the autumn month. All the leaves had fallen, and it looked more like winter than fall with the loss of sunset painted leaves.

Mycroft had started seeing Greg a little less than usual ever since it had started getting colder, and when he did he wanted to reach the indoors promptly after exiting it. His mum, Eva, had even started picking Greg up after school, offering a ride for Mycroft as well which he graciously took.

Mycroft liked Eva; she was kind, and cared for her son, and even her son’s friends. He could tell Greg appreciated his mum more than anything in the world and he understood why. Well, he thought he did, anyway.

Mycroft waited outside for Greg once school had let out, eventually seeing his toboggan covered head poke out from behind a crowd, then seeing his coat and sweater clad body follow. Lord, the boy had to be wearing a long sleeve under that big sweater too.

Mycroft smiled at his friend and met him the rest of the way, walking towards Eva’s car. “Warm enough?” He teased.

Greg’s smile only grew bigger. “Nah.” He answered sarcastically. “I do miss the warm weather though.”

“Mm.” Mycroft hummed in reply. “I used to be the opposite way.”

“Used too? What changed?” Greg inquired, turning his head to face Mycroft’s as they approached the car.

 _I see you more often in warm weather._ Mycroft’s brows furrowed as he blanked on what to say. “Uhhhm..”

Greg’s risen in surprise. “Didn’t know that was part of your vocabulary.” He playfully jabbed, opening the car door ducking in.

Mycroft smiled and blushed. “Oh shut it!” He responded as he rounded the car, hearing a chuckle come from the side Greg had just gotten in on before getting in himself.

“Good day, boys?” Eva asked the smiling teenagers, fatigue in her voice but smiling all the same.

“Pretty good. How was yours, mum?” Greg asked in return, pulling on his seat belt which Mycroft copied.

“Oh it was a usual day. Not bad, not good.” She answered.

Mycroft could tell that was a lie from the list of deductions in his head; she’d worked the moment her feet hit the floor and was now, from what he observed from her hands to her shoes and even the way her hair was tied back that she was now working two jobs. She was stressed and exhausted, and, in a week and a half it would be the first of December, meaning monthly bills; the way she gripped the steering wheel and held her body told she was worried about them.

Greg didn’t seem to notice. Maybe he did but just didn’t want to show it. Maybe he didn’t even know his mum had taken up a new job. Mycroft still, even months of getting to know Greg, couldn’t read him like he could anyone else. He had come to the conclusion his attraction was what was getting in the way, fogging his eyes. Or maybe Greg could just hide things very well. Maybe it was a combination of both.

“And how are you, Mr. Quiet?” She smiled in her rear view mirror at Mycroft.

Mycroft looked up and smiled. “Oh I’m quite well, Ms. Lestrade. Thank you.” He said in his polite voice he used with adults, but with Eva it was softer and kinder. He turned his head toward Greg. “I know who to blame for your nicknames now.” He smirked.

That made Greg laugh. “Wow, I guess I did get that from her.” He sat up when they drove past his house and pulled into Mycroft’s driveway instead. “Am I going with Mycroft?” Hope was in his voice.

Mycroft perked up and turned his attention to the woman driving.

She half sighed, her tone apologetic. “Not today, hun. You have chores today.”

The jumper covered boy’s voice became peppered with disappointed he tried to hide. “Oh yeah..” He turned to Mycroft and smiled, washing away any trace of his current emotion.

That was the first time Mycroft had ever seen Greg in any mood other than happy, and it was…wrong on him. It was wrong to see him not smiling. He felt like he was seeing something he was not meant to see.

“Tomorrow then?” Greg offered, hope coming back.

“Of course.” Mycroft smiled back, softly. Warmly.

Mycroft’s answer made Greg’s happy smile return and the ginger felt right again.

“Well, as always, thank you for the escort home,” He nodded to Eva, “And I will see you tomorrow then.” He returned to Greg before opening the car door and sliding out.

“Any time, Mycroft, hun.” Eva smiled.

“Bye, Mycroft.” Greg beamed at him.

“Goodbye, Gregory.” Mycroft replied with a smirk on his face, shutting the door.

Greg grinned.

Mycroft heard him shout ‘Greg!’ through the door and he chuckled, walking up his driveway to his home, a broad smile stretching his lips as the car behind him backed out and drove up the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive comments are always welcome considering this is unbeta'd and also not Brit picked. Thank you for reading chapter 11! Kisses.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own anything but the concept of this idea.


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